


Dark Things Implied

by Rhanon_Brodie (Glass_Jacket)



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Indie Music RPF, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Bisexuality, Drug Dealer au, Drug Use, Emotional Abuse, Gay Sex, Homosexuality, Josh is definitely not a nice dude in this, M/M, Mental Abuse, No Apologies, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rating subject to change, Slash, Tags Subject to Change, Violence, crocodile pit, emotional blackmail, jamex, miles is not a nice dude in this, milex - Freeform, quasi mob au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 00:22:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 230,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4725767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_Jacket/pseuds/Rhanon_Brodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bored and disillusioned with his current lot in life and school, 25 year old Alex Turner takes a chance on a stranger in a club.  Caught in a maelstrom of money, sex, drugs, and violence, life as he knows it spins dangerously out of control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> Yet another fic baby brought to life by myself and Stanzie, over weeks of plotting. This had very different beginnings, and turned into the thing that has been cryptically tagged as 'mob!fic' on tumblr for the last few months. It is Milex. It is Jamex. It's action-packed, dark, bloody, sexy, and packed full of triggery things. Heed the warnings, people.
> 
> This entire fic will be told in a series of multi-chaptered arcs.

_Me heart is poundin’ to the rhythm comin’ at me from all sides, a steady pulse that makes the bodies ‘round me quake, and bend, sweat comin’ to the fore, with drops of love, an’ Jupiter apparent in the lights that flash overhead. Me hands don’t feel like my own. My blood belongs to someone else, I think, or maybe that’s me heart. I’m parched, an’ unsteady, weavin’ through the mass that writhes around me, hands over heads, castin’ shadows on the wall, leaving negatives on the backs of me eyelids. I need water, an’ summat to cure this ache that’s beginning to well in me veins._

_I walk with the beat that’s settled in me stomach, finding tonic at the bar and skipping the gin. Things are starting to get hazy, no thanks to the blunt I shared with two goofballs and their overtly giggling female companion, and while I’ve got a good buzz going on, I feel like it’s rather tame to the way I want to be. School is a bore; the art program is a joke, and I’d be much better off throwing twenty thousand quid down the toilet, than having some post-hippie nightmare tell me that my work doesn’t evoke enough feeling in her. I’m sorry you weren’t there to see me bleed on the canvas, you twat, but I don’t feel the need to explain meself._

_In the toilet, I stare at the thing looking back at me from the mirror, and use my hands to muss the dark curls, pulling them until they’re hiding me eyes. I wish I’d brought me shades, and I check all me pockets just to make sure I didn’t stuff them there last minute before leaving my flat. I come up empty handed, save for a pack of Camels and my lighter. Not giving two fucks about bylaws, I light up. I’m high as fuck anyway, and the loo smells of stale liquor, and piss. I’m certain no one is going to complain._

_How did I get stuck here, standing in a bathroom in another club on another Thursday night, tryin’ to find a new version of myself that I didn’t loathe when I encountered a mirror, or the disappointed expression of a mentor in the program? I open the tap on the sink, cup me hands beneath the stream, and splash my face. The sounds from the dance floor are muffled, but sharp snippets of clarity arise as the door swings open for a moment. Then, it closes, and I’m caught in here, me cigarette burnin’ where I left it on the edge of the sink, and me hands drippin, still not feeling like they belong to me -_

_“You a faggot?”_

_I straighten from my musings and focus on the face that has appeared behind me, grinning like something sick in the mirror._

_“Wot?” I turn and look at the man standing there._

_“ ‘Wot’?” He’s mimicking me accent, and he scoffs, and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you sound like a faggot.”_

_I blink stupidly because I’ve never really encountered this before - not in this day and age, and certainly not in a club of this caliber. It’s not a gay bar, mind you, but it’s not the fucking lounge at Applebee’s, either. I suppose grinding on the floor with anyone who cared to might have been a bit flagrant on my part, but I don’t believe in denying meself the chance to feel when I’m riding high like this._

_“Fook off, mate,” I sigh breezily, giving him a wan smile before drying me hands and plucking my cigarette from where it rests. I start for the door._

_That’s when another man appears, slipping in through the cracks, and guarding the door like he’s some sort of colossus._

_“You gonna let me by?” I ask, narrowing my eyes and tilting my chin up. I’m not big by any means, but when you’re a little bit littler, you learn early on to stand your ground. It’s either that, or you get eaten by the bigger members of the pack. It’s the fate of the runt._

_The thug before the door shakes his head slowly, his mouth pulling up into a sinister smile. “I’m gonna beat your ass.”_

_I snort at the threat. “Because I’m a faggot?”_

_He nods again, and I am aware of the first man moving to stand behind me._

_“Well,” I say, pausing dramatically to take a drag from my cigarette and blow a stream of smoke overhead, “don’t you think that as a faggot, I might like havin’ me arse beaten? Seems a bit counterproductive, if you ask me. You’re just encouraging my faggoty-ness.”_

_The thug looking at me flicks his gaze up over me shoulder, and I let my cigarette dangle in the corner of my mouth, cursing the fact I’ve left me jacket at the check, an’ with it, the small pocket knife I always carry._

_“He’s a smart-mouth and a faggot,” the first man declares. “Even more reason to kick the shit out of you.”_

_Now I’m on high alert - still high, limbs trembling, heart thudding in me throat, wondering if I’ll ever get out alive._

_I feel a hand close on the back of my shirt, at the collar, and haul me back, while an arm hooks through me elbow, pinning one arm back. “Jesus,” I rasp, grimacing as the hand on my shirt goes for my hair and twists. The cigarette fumbles from my lips. “You really want a piece o’me, don’t ya?” I wince at the hold on my hair, but I’m still convinced that I’ll come out of this unscathed. “One at a time, boys, I’ll make it worth your while.” Even when my life is threatened, my mouth can’t quite comprehend that perhaps it should wait for synapses to fire and signal my central nervous system that now is not the time to start running off._

_The prick at my rear confirms my thoughts, “Little faggot doesn’t know when to shut up. Maybe we should make him choke on his words?”_

_A fist comes swiftly, pounding into my stomach that, while fairly toned for a lean lad, is no match for the brute with an 80 mph swing. I do choke; I feel my diaphragm collapse, and I wheeze, and my body goes into flight mode. My shoes scrape over the floor and I reach behind me, my torso aching in agony, and I try to claw me way out the hold. There’s more scuffling, and the thug before me as a hand on my belt buckle, yanking me back down to earth and holding me in place as he draws back to swing again._

_It’s coming for my face. I know it before he does, I think, and I close my eyes at the flash of his class ring, wondering if I’ll have the dickhead’s graduation year permanently imprinted on me forehead. The stone is blue. The lights are flickering, and my heart is seized in my chest. Before the moment of impact, however, the door that was previously guarded slams open, and the punch shoots out just as the deliverer glances towards the interruption. The fist connects, but not with half the precision he might have hoped for. It glances off of my mouth, enough to split my lip and make my face feel fuzzy, but it could be worse. The hold on me loosens, and I sag somewhat, and scramble to stand upright as three men push their way into the room._

+

“Pack it in, boys,” the man in the middle said. His tone brooked no argument, his expression rather bored. “Take it elsewhere.”

“Fuck you, we were here first,” the first of my assailants snapped, reaching for my hair again.

“You touch him again, and I’ll tear your hands from your body.”

There was an eerie silence spreading over us, and I couldn’t keep my gaze from the man who had levied the threat to my attackers. When no one moved, he sighed, and looked to the sturdier man at his right. “Matthew,” he murmured, seemingly releasing the hound.

‘Matthew’ cracked his knuckles as he ticked his head to the side, looking from one of my attackers to the other. “Mr. Kane has asked you kindly to take your business elsewhere,” he rasped in a familiar accent.

I couldn’t help but stand a little straighter, still shuddering against the sink, dabbing at the blood that welled in my split lip.

“Must be a faggot convention in here,” one of the thugs snarled. “You a rent boy, or what?” Then the pair of them laughed, and sauntered out of the bathroom.

Another tick of the head from ‘Mr. Kane’, and Matthew followed them out of the room. The third man moved to stand at the door once more.

Mr. Kane moved to the sink and turned the taps on, sluicing water over his hands as he watched my reflection in the mirror. I couldn’t help but stare. I didn’t know who he was, or where he came from but,

“Thank you,” I muttered, shrugging my shoulders and righting my shirt. “For that. You know.”

“Ah,” Mr. Kane smiled, turning the taps off and reaching for paper towel. His rings glinted in the harsh fluorescent lights, and when he was done drying his hands, he turned to the mirror and ran his fingers over the short nap of his dark hair. For a moment, he preened in silence, checking the line of his lapels, and tugging his sleeves straight at the cuffs. “No need to thank me, yeah? I saw you wander in here, watched those two follow. I knew somethin’ was up. Can’t have that sort of thing happenin’ in me own club, tha knows? It’s bad for buisness.”

“Your...your club?” I echoed, feeling my eyes go wide at the admission.

Mr. Kane chuckled, and smiled in the mirror before turning towards me. “Aye, laa, my club. What, I don’t look like a club owner?” He swept his hands down over his frame, and I couldn’t help but follow the gesture, taking in the dark navy suit and the electric purple shirt open at the collar. The ensemble fit him like a glove, and while yes, he did in fact look like a club owner, he seemed rather

“Young,” I muttered, caught in my own thoughts.

“Beg your pardon?”

“I mean, you seem a little young to own summat like...this.” I then realized that his voice, the gentle, throaty rasp, was tilted with a lilt - not the thick Northern roll of his man Matthew, but the reed of someone born on the Wirral. “You a Scouse?”

Mr. Kane laughed, his smile splitting his face, lifting his cheeks and I caught a glimpse of a dimple, which made me knees a little shaky. Oh, he was fit, for certain, and I couldn’t help but fall for him just a little bit as he fixed his keen hazel eyes on me.

“Yeah, I’m a Scouse,” he chuckled once more. “An’ twenty-nine ain’t that young, laa.”

I shrugged. “M’only twenty five. I’m Alex.” I don’t know why I felt the urge to tell him my name, but I did, and it made his smile broaden.

“Miles,” he replied, before concern took over his face. “That hurt?” He tapped his own finger to his bottom lip, causing me to lick mine in response.

“Ah, it’s nowt,” I shrugged, turning to the mirror and prodding my split lip.

“Still...I can’t help but feel somewhat responsible. It is my club, after all, and such things shouldn’t happen, especially to a lad as...beautiful as you.”

My eyes caught his in the mirror and he watched with cool interest as my cheeks heated. “I...ah...that’s...hmm.” So when faced with the desire to actually reply, my mouth turns mutinous, and I come across a bumbling fool.

“Let me buy you a drink,” Miles offered, heading off my rambling with another charming smile.

I grinned, wincing as my lip took the brunt of it. “You’re not really buying it,” I pointed out.

He shrugged. “It comes out of my overhead. But, I think I can afford it. It’s the least I can do.”

I nodded. Without any thought, I nodded, and agreed, and followed him into the sea of pulsing blood and bodies.

+

“Oohhh, fuck!”

The rush was blinding, and sweet, and it ripped into my veins at breathtaking speed. I’d never had coke that pure, and I cackled at my luck, and the way Miles watched amused as he sat next to me on the couch.

“Have you tried this?” I yelled over the thumping music, pointing at the table where more lines of cocaine were cut and stacked, ready to go. I looked at Miles, who was still grinning beside me.

“I’ve dabbled,” he replied, mouth close to my ear, breath hot on my skin.

I laughed and leaned into him, finding a level of comfort I didn’t realize I’d been missing until that moment. It might have been partly due to the coke, but the way Miles looked at me made me feel like I could do no wrong - like I could be anything I wanted around him. Sure I’d only met him a few hours prior, but when you’re hit with a tonne of bricks, you tend to sit up and take notice, don’t you? I picked up the tightly rolled bill and leaned over the glass table again, but Miles stopped me with a hand, and tilted his head towards the private bar in the VIP area where we sat.

“Let’s get you a drink, charmer, before you go off the rails,” he shouted, standing and taking me with him.

“Gin!” I declared, moving boldly, and dragging him behind me.

Miles laughed, and tugged me to a standstill. “No, laa,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Gin won’t do. Tequila,” he amended, his eyes flashing from gold to green in the glittering lights.

I nodded again, unable to keep my grin from widening. “Tequila!” I crowed, and my arm hooked around his neck in a familiar gesture that caused Matt to suddenly step forward from where he’d stood unmoving by the bar only seconds before.

MIles raised a hand towards his man, and then steered us towards the bar.

“Your friend seems rather protective of you,” I shouted over the thump of music as Miles stepped onto the rail running the bottom of the bar and boosted himself up. 

He reached over and felt around behind the bar for a moment, fixing his gaze on me, until he chuckled and came back to stand on the ground with a bottle of Patron in his grip. “Right,” he yelled. “Yeah...yeah, my...’friends’ are always watching out for me.”

I knew he was humoring me, but at the moment I didn’t care - he was laughing right along with me, like perhaps we had a private joke to which only he, and his closest, were privy to the punchline. I watched as his slender fingers arranged shot glasses, procured lime wedges, and then he uncorked the bottle and freely poured a half a dozen shots, spilling liquor everywhere, and not caring one bit. I suppose it didn’t matter - it was his club, as he’d pointed out earlier, and he could do what he pleased, but something told me that was a way of life for him in general.

I envied him that.

With the coke crawling through me system, I felt restless, and out of control, and I loved it. My heart pounded rapidly, and it seemed like my thoughts, my ideas were coming faster than I could consider them, and suddenly I found myself curling my fingers over Miles’ wrist, the gold of his bracelet and the rings on his ring and pinky fingers catching the light and flashing through my mind. Our gazes met as I reached for the salt shaker, and I was bold, turning his hand in mine, and bringing it to my mouth. Eyes still locked, I licked a quick, slick stripe on the inside of his wrist and saw the corner of his mouth lift as his eyes darkened. Next came the salt, and one-two-three, the liquor and the lime were dancing on me tongue, and I could smell the shadow of Miles’ cologne as I swallowed with a groan.

Miles pressed his lips together as if amused with my dare. Twisting his hand, he caught me about the wrist and yanked me until our noses were almost touching, and his eyes narrowed sharply.

“You’re a bold one, aren’t you?” He muttered. We were close enough that he didn’t have to speak any louder.

I nodded with a coy grin, and shrugged loosely. I pushed up onto my toes and hovered my lips next to his ear. “Care to test your theory?”

His fingers tightened on my wrist, and I felt his other hand clamp over my hip, holding me steady, and but a hairsbreadth from his body. He searched my face, perhaps seeking hesitation, and when he found none, he yanked me forward, and pressed his cheek against mine. The short, soft whiskers of his beard slid over my damp skin, and I was enveloped in that scent once more - cigarettes and citrus and expensive wood, salt water. He was fresh, and I wanted a bite.

“This is me calling your bluff,” he rasped.

And I, with nothing left to lose, was all in.

+

Everything was warm, and white, and soft, and smelled of lemons, and linen. I was, for all I could figure, sleeping on a cloud. Whichever way I turned, I was met with the caress of smooth sheets, down pillows, a thick, warm duvet. It was certainly a far cry from my narrow single bed in my bachelor pad, and the two synthetic quilts I huddled under every night. So, I was clearly dreaming, drifting, and very much alive - the glimpses of white and sunlight that I grasped as my eyes fluttered told me that I was in a bedroom, although whose, I wasn’t so sure of. I checked my faculties, flexed my toes and curled my fingers into the bed linens, and found the usual muscle aches that come from having consumed too much alcohol. My mouth was wretched, too - dry, and definitely tasting like the ass end of a lame zebra. Heaving a ragged groan, I rolled onto my back and dared to open my eyes all the way.

There were windows everywhere, letting the bright, morning light in. No clouds were present in the clear blue sky; the only sounds were that of the ocean as it crashed somewhere in the distance, and birds chirping. I sat up immediately, covers pooling to my waist, and scanned the room. I definitely didn’t recognize the huge space, but I noticed my clothes scattered in a trail leading from the door to the bed. Looking down, I confirmed that I was in fact naked, and in a stroke of luck, I saw that my boxers were laying on the floor next to the bed. I leaned down and snatched them up, and went about tugging them on while still under the covers.

That’s when the door burst open.

I’ll admit that I yelped rather loudly, startled by the abrupt entrance that a small group of people made. A petite, dark-haired woman carrying a tray with coffee and orange juice came first, followed by two people I recognized right away: Matt, the muscle from last night, and Miles Kane.

“Good morning, laa,” Miles greeted, smiling brightly as he surveyed my state of being. He adjusted his slacks before sitting on the edge of the bed, directing the woman with coffee to leave the tray on the side table. When she’d left, he turned back to me. “How did you sleep?”

“Ah…” I paused, thinking about the question. I didn’t remember much from last night beyond the tequila, and another line of coke. We’d danced, from what my muscles could tell me, but that might have been...I felt my cheeks heat and I turned bashful, glancing up at Miles from under my brows.

He chuckled and eased onto his elbow, stretching out along the bed. “Turning shy on me, laa? After last night?” He walked his fingers over the small hills and valleys the duvet made, and found the rise of my knee. He wiggled his index finger against the bone and bobbed his eyebrows rather comically.

Shifting, I frowned. I didn’t _feel_ like anything beyond actually drinking and dancing had occurred...there was no phantom of pain, or use that comes from a night of vigorous fucking. Still, anything was possible. “Look, I don’t usually...I mean, yeah, sometimes but...I..uh…” I passed him a watery smile and shrugged. “Was it good?”

Miles snorted and closed his eyes with a shake of his head. “Oh, Alex,” he breathed, sitting up. “You don’t strike me the type for one-night stands. And I’m not much for them, either. At least not with a bloke as interesting as you.” He stood from the bed and began wandering about, looking out the windows, pausing in front of a mirror and adjusting his shirt.  
“Then why the fook am I naked?”

His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Apparently,” he drawled, tilting his head. “Tequila makes you quite...loose. An’ cocaine, even more so.” His cheeks lifted as he smiled. I groaned softly then, and felt the colour start to rise in my cheeks. One of Miles’ eyebrows arched up with glee. “You got very naked very quickly, as soon as I brought you up here. Took one look at this big bed an’ just had to dive right in.” He winked, and chuckled at my furrowed brow. “We didn’t fuck, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I let out the breath I was holding with a quiet, “Oh.” I nodded and looked at the duvet, and absently picked at a thread there.

“You sound rather disappointed,” Miles pointed out, a trace of a smile in his voice.

“I...errr...why exactly am I here, then?” I dared another glance upwards, and caught Miles’ face of disbelief in the mirror. 

He turned, glancing at Matt and wordlessly dismissing him. When the door had closed, Miles turned back to me. “Because,” he shrugged. “I wanted you to be here. And you didn’t have any objections.”

“So...I can go?”

Miles shrugged again. “Do you want to go?”

I fell silent as I looked about the room once more. It were lavish, really, though spartan in its decor. Still, I was in love with it, and the view from the windows. “Dunno,” I answered, trying to appear ambiguous.

“Well, while you decide, at least have coffee, yeah? Luisa’s brew is superb. And there’s orange juice, too, took liberty with that. If you’re hungry, I can have my kitchen staff make you whatever you want.”

While he spoke, I’d reached for the coffee pot and poured myself a cup - Miles was right, the coffee smelled fantastic, and I didn’t bother with cream or sugar, merely drank it black, and hummed at the warmth of it. “Is this your room?”

Miles shook his head. “I’m down the hall.”

“Oh,” I said again, still trying to not sound let down. “Whose….whose room is it then?”

“Just a guest room, laa. Unless you like it? It’s got a great view, doesn’t it? Could be your room, if you want.”

I pursed my lips and set the coffee cup back on the tray. “Why...do you keep saying that? If I want something? Like, you’re the one to give it to me.”

“Because I _can_ give it to you, Alex, and anything else your heart desires. 

“Yes, but, why me?”

“I’m intrigued with you,” Miles answered, as if it was plainly obvious.

I made a face, and sighed, raking my fingers over my hair.

“Look, tell you what,” Miles started, sinking down on the edge of the mattress so that he was facing me. In the morning light, his eyes were hazel, more on the brown side, but startling as they were the night before. “Spend the day here with me - I’ve got a meeting after lunch, but it won’t take long. Take a load off. From what you told me last night, you’re overrun with school and work, and you’re bored to death. Think of this as a little vacation. And if you like, it can be a permanent one.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him, and gave him a small, ambiguous smile. “You’re...for real, aren’t you?”

“For the most part, yeah,” Miles answered. His eyes softened. “Just one day. Come on. You may even enjoy yourself, laa, if you allow it.” He winked.

“One day,” I murmured with a small nod. “All right. You’ve got your day.”

“Perfect,” Miles grinned, like he knew that was going to be my answer. “Leave the clothes, yeah? I’ll have them cleaned. There’s a robe in the bathroom there. Have a shower. Take a bath, whatever you like. And when you’re done, take a right out the door, and come downstairs. I’ll have Matt show you to the patio.” He stood then, and smoothed the creases from his slacks, and slowly backed towards the door. “I guarantee that after today, you’re never going to want to leave.” He turned, and left me alone.

He was right. I gave him that one day to show me what he could offer, and it turned into into five hundred. The nights seem double. I’m beginning to wonder if maybe I should have run the other way that morning, and never looked back. Hindsight, 20/20 an’ all that. The thing is this: Miles once said to me, a few months after that first day, “I didn’t pick you up, laa. I picked you _out_.”

Being loved by Miles is a powerful thing that you don’t just walk away from.

You’d be lucky if he let you crawl.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

_**Sixteen Months Later** _

“You hidin’ out?”

The words came as the coke shot up me nose and blasted into me system. For a moment, I was uncertain of anything except for the ringing in my ears. When my vision adjusted and the colours were blaring at full volume, I blinked at my reflection, and then found Miles’ staring back from where he stood leaning against the bathroom door.

“Thought I were bein’ sneaky,” I chuckled, smiling slowly as Miles turned the lock with clever fingers, and then sauntered across the marble floor.

“Not in this house,” Miles replied, his smile going up, up, up until I thought it would never come back down, and he'd seemed almost sinister, if it hadn’t been for the way his hands wrapped me hips and held me steady as he pressed behind me.

Of course, _not in this house_. I’d no doubt in my mind that motion detectors had gone off when I’d stepped into the private wing of the sprawling house on Venice Beach. Those sensors were only in place during parties, and with the rager going on upstairs, and outside - everywhere but the private rooms and offices of the home - Miles’ security team had been on it right away. I would have told Ford, the head of surveillance, if I’d been able to locate him. 

Truthfully, the need to have a bump outweighed my common sense; I didn’t even tell Matt where I’d wandered off to. I just needed to escape from the raucous laughter, the shit-eating grins and the ass-kissing. Everyone put on a show for Miles, and he knew it, but loved it nonetheless, so I said nothing, and went along for the ride, content to look sharp at his side, and snort his cocaine, drink his liquor, and have him all to myself when everyone else had gone home.

“Didn’t mean to pull you away from your par’y,” I murmured, already shivering at the effects of the coke combined the pull and twist of Miles’ fingers as they untucked the white button down from the light grey slacks I wore.

“Nonsense, laa,” Miles purred, turning his face to the side of my neck, nosing my long hair aside so he could kiss me there. “You could pull me away from anything, and I’d never even take a breath to consider complainin’.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” I grinned. It was a running joke between us - or, at least that’s what it seemed - that Miles could have his pick of anything, and even after sixteen months, I still questioned his choice from time to time.

“Mmmm…no,” he drawled, tilting his head to bite down softly on the juncture of my neck and shoulder. Gently, his fingertips teased over my navel, causing my mind, and my belly, to swirl like butterfly wings. Next, he settled his palm against my skin, just below my navel, his last two fingers dipping down below the waistband of me slacks, and me briefs. “Just those who have me completely infatuated,” he continued. His fingers continued too, curling back out to clasp the buckle of me belt and pry it open.

“Mi,” I breathed, closing my eyes at the pleasure slowly simmering up my spine.

“Al,” he murmured back. He had my belt open in seconds, the catch of me slacks followed, deftly unhooked before he grasped the tab to the zipper. When he’d pulled that down too, his hand disappeared, and my next breath caught in my throat.

Forcing my eyes open, I caught a glimpse of his fingers slipping into his grinning mouth before he brushed them over the mirror I’d used to snort my rail. He picked up a bit of stray powder there and tucked his fingers back into his mouth, sucking quickly before that hand dropped right back down into my briefs.

I grinned lazily, and then bit my lip before pressing my hand over the one he had in me underwear. Rolling my hips forward, I caught his eyes in the mirror and raised my eyebrow. “Gonna bend me over the sink, Daddy?” I whispered softly, watching how his eyes darkened at the nickname.

His fingers took a rough hold of my cock, squeezing and stroking quickly, making my eyes widen and my hips squirm against him. My breath came faster as I felt the blood rush to my cock, and I was hard within seconds. He chuckled again, and nodded, using his other hand to thread fingers into my hair before leaving off my dick, wrapping my hip and pulling me back as he bent me forward. “Is that what me baby wants? Hmm? Wants his Daddy to treat him like a lit’l bitch?”

“So fookin’ rude,” I breathed, fluttering my lashes as my voice echoed off the vanity. “Have you got time?”

Miles was already unhooking his trousers and pulling his fly open, enough so that he could get his cock out, before yanking my trousers down, briefs and all.

“Always got time for me good boy,” he grinned, reaching to open the drawer to his right. He fumbled around, his other hand still grasping his dick, stroking to full attention, tapping the head of his length against my arse to tease me.

It worked. It always did. Miles knew how to use his cock, and I loved the way he fucked me with it, or his fingers, his mouth, all of it. I couldn’t get enough, and he neither could he.

“Here we are,” Miles muttered, catching my gaze once more and holding a bottle of lube up in the mirror. “Now…hold still, laa. Don’t want this gettin’ on that gorgeous suit of yours.”

I giggled, but nodded, and watched as Miles flipped the lid open. Before he could upend it, however, there was a hesitant knock on the door, followed by a throat clearing.

“Oh, for fook’s sake,” Miles groaned, glancing back over his shoulder. “Wot?” he barked out.

“Homme’s just arrived, Mr. Kane.” Matt was on the other side of the door; I recognized his voice.

I also recognized the name he dropped, and in an instant the hard on that had been raging moments before was now quickly deflating, and I felt a chill go through my blood. I was already reaching for my pants.

“Fuck,” Miles uttered again, groaning as he delicately placed his cock back in his briefs and redid his fly. “Shuman with him?” he called out.

“Yes, Sir,” Matt answered.

“Thank you, Matthew, can you make sure they’re taken care of until I get there?” Miles glanced at me and frowned as he watched me hurriedly tug my trousers into place. I was beyond flustered at the mention of Homme, and Miles knew the reason why.

“Of course, Sir,” Matt replied once more.

“I’ll be right up,” Miles said as a way of ending the conversation with Matt. Still, his eyes were trained on me. “Relax, baby. We’re here in our home. I know you don’t much care for him - believe me, I don’t either - but it’s imperative that I kiss his arse until I kill it.”

I shuddered at the thought. Miles would never actually go that far - would he? I’d never pegged him as the type. Sure, he had a temper, any man in his position would. And he could certainly hold his own, I’d seen him in his fair share of brawls. But killing someone? I shook my head clear of the thought.

“Alex?”

I gave Miles my most charming smile. “I’m fine, darling. I think I might need a drink, though.”

Miles nodded and watched as I finished straightening my shirt and slacks. He then plucked my suit jacket off of the hook on the back of the door and helped me into it, standing behind me to smooth the lapels out. With a flourish, he reached into my inside coat pocket and produced a small, flat, leather box I suspected he’d planted only seconds before when he was taking my jacket off the hook.

“Mi,” I sighed, tilting my head and taking the box from him. He’d been spoiling me rotten since the very beginning, and I was in too deep to think anything of it. I opened the box and let out a small sound of surprise. An antique Omega skeleton watch stared back at me, the fittings made of brushed copper, antique gold, and brass, with a chocolate-cherry coloured leather strap. It was a rare find, I knew, up at auction last month for a whopping seven thousand dollars. “Holy fuck, Mi,” I whispered, my fingers shaking as they hovered over the flawless crystal face.

“Hoped you would be saying that under different circumstances.” He passed his fingers over mine and then lifted the watch from its cushion, and took the box from my grip. Winding his arms around my torso, he secured the watch to my wrist. 

I’d never owned a watch like this before - add it to the running tally of things I’d never had before I’d met Miles in that bathroom at his club. Turning my head I kissed his cheek and then we both looked at our reflection in the mirror. “You didn’t have to, you know,” I said. Every time he gifted me with summat extravagant, I’d say those words, like a trained parrot, because it was true - he didn’t have to get me owt, and he didn’t have to pick me in the first place.

“On the contrary. I know how much my baby likes to look good for me.” Miles winked, and I fought the urge to visibly deflate.

It was always for him. Why wouldn’t it be?

“Don’t stay down here too long, darling, you need to be present, yes?”

I nodded and melted into the kiss Miles left me with, a short, hot burst of his lips against mine, his taste lingering along with his cologne. I glanced back in the mirror once he’d gone and worried with my hair for a bit longer. I couldn’t hide out here in the bathroom forever, no matter how uncomfortable the company upstairs - Homme in particular - made me feel. I glanced at the watch once more, noted the time, smiled at the smooth sweep of the second hand and the graceful movement of the cogs and wheels that I could see under the crystal. Miles had certainly outdone himself this time. I wondered what he might do to top this.

+

“Al, baby, come and say ‘hi’ to Joshua, yeah?” 

At Miles’ mention of his close colleague I suppressed the urge to shudder. Instead I took a deep breath and forced a smile before turning from where I was watching the bartender make my margarita. The man in question - Josh Homme - caught my attention right away; at 6’5” with a shock of strawberry blond hair, he was kind of hard to miss. I lifted my hand and gave a little wave.

“Hello, Joshua. How are you?” I stepped away from my drink with a little bit of deflation - I really wanted that drink, and knew it would help in this situation, but if I kept Miles waiting, he wouldn’t be happy about it. I approached Miles and Homme, and held my hand out in greeting. “Haven’t seen you in ages. Miles tells me you were in France?”

Josh grinned wolfishly as he eyed me up and down, and turned a bit smug as his hand swallowed mine. “Capri, actually,” he clarified, sliding his thumb over the inside of my wrist. “You’re looking well, aren’t you?”

I shrugged even though bile was rising in my throat, and glanced at Miles, hoping that he’d take the hint. Josh was always a bit lecherous towards me, and Miles knew it.

“Like I’d settle for anything less than the best,” Miles boasted, plucking my hand from Josh’s, and lifting it to kiss the knuckles. “Look at this gorgeous brat, will you?” Miles continued, flicking his eyes over me in much the same manner Josh hand. The difference was that I felt warm all over when Miles did it, and I had to stop myself from kissing Miles senseless. Miles released my hand and tucked a curl of of my hair behind my ear, as he continued. “I talked him into growing his hair out. It suits him.” 

My cheeks heated, and I shifted in the clothes I wore. I’d forgone the tie, and after the encounter in the bathroom, I’d left a few buttons open at the throat to tease. It did the trick - maybe too well, as Miles’ eyes landed there, in the hollow of my collarbones, and Josh’s did, too. I ignored the latter, and focused on Miles, and his intense gaze. Those bright, hazel eyes slid back up and he winked at me before turning to Josh again with a chuckle. “Makes him look like the artist he once thought he was.”

The only thing I could do was smile faintly at the memory. More than a year had passed since I’d considered myself a student of anything other than fine cognac and expensive suits, uncut cocaine and beluga caviar, and I hadn’t looked back. Why would I? Wasn’t I living the dream, essentially? 

Sometimes, however, it did bother me; in those more mundane, day-to-day times, perhaps something on the TV, or in a bookstore, that would make me pause and consider where I’d ended up, being that my starting point had been so very different. I’d been passionate about the visual arts, and even more so about the written word, and I’d given it up all so easily for Miles. And it were Miles that would distract me back to the present with a kiss, a car, a week in Paris on a whim, and I’d forget everything that I’d been so bored and lacklustre with. Miles kept me guessing, and that was part of the thrill.

“You’re certain he wasn’t the model for another artist?” Homme was speaking again, and still leering steadily.

Miles chuckled, but I detected a cold edge rushing through it. “Hm. Doesn’t quite matter now, does it?” Miles replied. “Not when he’s got me. He’s all mine, Joshua, just like I’m all his.” Miles turned to me then. “Isn’t that right, babe?” he added softly, before leaning close and brushing his lips over my cheek.

I squeezed his hand in reply, feeling a bit steadier with the confirmation. Then, I looked back at Homme and slowly raised an eyebrow, silently challenging him to contradict Miles’ statement. What I got in reply was a hollow, chilled glance from pale blue eyes, and I forced myself to stare right back, refusing to give Homme the upper hand.

“Well, enjoy it, lads,” Homme offered lightly, his mouth pressed into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He lifted his drink to us both. “Lovely party. Won’t you excuse me? I see Shuman over there, I need to talk to him about Chicago.”

Miles nodded, and when Homme had left, Miles let out a breath he’d been holding. “I swear to god, Alex, if that fucking prick looks at you like that one more time-”

“Like what, love,” I interrupted, trying to put Miles’ mind at ease.

“Like you’re...you’re a lamb offered up to him in tribute or something.”

I chuckled and shook my head, choosing to place a hand on either side of Miles’ face, and pull his gaze from Homme’s retreating back. “Look at me,” I demanded softly, pouting to get my way.

Miles groaned playfully. I could distract him as easily as he could me, and he smiled and obeyed. “Hello, love,” Miles murmured softly.

I winked. “Let him look all he wants. You said it yourself. I’m all yours. You’re all mine. Nowt’s gonna change that, you know.”

“He’s in position to take over the whole organization,” Miles grumbled, taking up one of my hands and linking our fingers. He pulled the me to the bar and nodded at the tender to make a pair of margaritas. “It won’t take much, really - once those loose ends in Chicago are tied up, it’s only a matter of time. Burke doesn’t want it - says it’s too risky, that he’s secure in his position.”

I gratefully accepted my long-awaited margarita, sipping it as I studied Miles fidgeting with his lighter. I knew that look in Miles’ eyes - knew the tone of voice, the way his shoulders squared. It was the same look Miles had given me when he decided he wanted me all to himself, an exclusive arrangement with any and all trimmings I desired. What Miles wanted, he got, and I had an inkling he’d do it by almost any means, too. The clubs Miles owned in the beginning had just been a start. Beneath the surface was a whole working of drugs, money, fast cars, faster boats, and living life to the fullest. Miles wanted to experience everything, and I was more than willing to come along for the ride. Now with three hotspots to his name, two on the east coast, and the original, The Bowery, here on the west, Miles was no longer content holding onto the lower rungs, and I admired him for it. I’d had drive once, passion for something other than this existence a lifetime ago, and I liked to think I remembered the rush. Miles provided the next best thing, of course.

“You want it, don’t you?” I murmured, glancing about to make sure no one was listening too intently. Though the party was ours, in our own home, there were people from all factions involved wandering about, and not everyone was privy to the same information.

Miles took a breath and nodded, and then reached into his coat pocket for his cigarette case. He procured two, and lit them, and then passed one to me with a little puff of smoke curling from the corner of his mouth.

“Does that mean you’re going to Chicago?” I wasn’t exactly keen with the idea, but there wasn’t much I could do to stop him - he was ruthless in pursuit of something he desired. I knew that well enough. I laid my hand over his where it rested on the bar and looked at him closely.

“Leavin’ tomorrow morning,” Miles admitted, perhaps a bit sheepishly. I had a feeling he hadn’t planned on admitting this part of the plan until tonight, when our guests had gone and he’d plied me with champagne and I was basking in the afterglow of a rigorous fucking.

I nodded reluctantly. The closer Miles got to the top of the pyramid he so desperately sought, the more dangerous it was becoming. I managed a reply, albeit rough, “Okay. How long you gone for?”

“A day, maybe two. No more.”

I chewed my lip. “What about,” and here I paused and made a subtle movement of my head towards where Miles and Josh had been talking before. “He mentioned Chicago, too.” I didn’t know precise facts about what would happen there, but I knew enough that things could get ugly if not handled delicately.

“He’s not due to go out until the middle of the week,” Miles murmured, turning to scan the guests that mingled. “By the time he gets there, I’ll be back here, no worse for wear, and already speaking with Clarke about a pay raise.” With a wink thrown towards me, he took a gulp of his drink. Suddenly, he stood a little straighter, his attention snagged by something - or rather someone.

I picked up on Miles’ distraction and perked up, following Miles’ line of sight. “What is it?” I muttered, grabbing Miles’ elbow to stay him a moment.

“Fucking hell, I can’t believe he’s got the nerve to show up here,” Miles snarled, downing the rest of his drink and tucking his cigarette into the corner of his mouth. “Excuse me, darling, won’t you?”

“Wait - Miles? What…” I trailed off and watched Miles weave through the guests and plant himself in front of another man, roughly the same height, but definitely a bigger build - Miles was insanely slender; almost anyone, save for me, had at least fifty pounds on him, if not more. I set my drink aside and left my cigarette burning in an ashtray, and moved to get close to where Miles had begun talking to the other man.

Perhaps ‘talking’ wasn’t the right term. It was more threatening than that. The man, whom I recognized, but couldn’t name, looked terrified as Miles’ voice steadily rose above that of the party. Soon enough, the music seemed to fade to the background, and the murmur of the guests’ voices came to a halt.

“....Sure, Morrison, of course, took you bloody long enough, didn’t it? Thought you’d skipped town with me fuckin’ money.” Miles’ face shifted from mock amusement, and in an instant became blank as his voice hardened. “So, welcome back, Robert.” He put a hand on Robert’s shoulder and squeezed hard enough that he winced, and tried to wiggle away. Matt was there a second later, a firm hand in the middle of Robert’s back, while Miles continued to glare at him.

“I trusted you, Robert.” Miles paused, and gestured about the room. “Just like I trust each and every person here. But, you,” and here he pointed brusquely at Mark, “you let me down. And that pisses me off. So, what do you think I should do about it?”

Robert faltered, and shrugged, and made a few sounds, but was hard pressed to come up with an answer suitable to Miles’ question. Finally, he was able to string together words: “I was gonna pay you back by the end of the month.”

“The end of the month,” Miles echoed flatly. “When you were due to hand me fifty grand a week past. You were gonna...pay me back? I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you’d _borrowed_ anythin’ from me.”

I froze at the shift in Miles’ demeanour, and stared hard at him, willing him to look at me. But Miles was determined to set an example, and I realized this with a sudden flash that terrified me to an unusual degree. It wasn’t like I’d never seen Miles shed blood before, and I’d seen him handle a gun on several occasions, but nothing like this. In the corner of my eye I saw Homme move closer, Shuman at his side, their eyes trained on the scene. I looked back to Miles. Was this for show? He wouldn’t actually...hurt anyone permanently, would he? Broken noses, black eyes, busted lips, knocking teeth out, and cracked ribs were par for the course, a result of Miles’ sharp knuckles and the incredible weight to one of his punches. This was new territory. A ball of nausea and fear dropped in my stomach like cold lead, and I felt the entire room take a collective breath, and hold it, waiting to see what would happen.

“Shit, Miles, I...er, I, uh, Mr. Kane, I just...needed a little extra, is all, and-”

“Oh, okay, a little extra? You know what we lenders call a ‘little extra,’ Robert? We call it interest. Now, I don’t have me accountant here to tell me exact figures, so I’m gonna improvise. Hold up your hand.”

Robert sputtered, clearly confused. “W-wh-what?”

Miles sighed at Robert’s cowardice, and nodded towards Matt, who swiftly maneuvered Robert into a tight thumb lock, causing him to yelp sharply and collapse onto his knees. Curling his fingers around Robert’s, Matt held the right hand splayed wide, yanking back on the fingers in warning to stay put.

“Thank you, Matthew, now, if you could just hold him still,” Miles murmured as he reached inside his suit jacket. He waited until Matt had stepped aside, his hand still clamped on the back of Robert’s neck, and then withdrew his gun, a sleek, custom SIG Sauer P226, flashy blue with a birchwood grip. 

If there was one person Miles would listen to when it came to business dealings, it was Matt, and I went from trying to gain Miles’ attention to gaining that of his head of security. Lurching through the crowd, I murmured apologies as I waded closer to the three men frozen in a tableau fit for a Tarantino film. Sure enough, Matt caught the movement in the corner of his eye and glanced at me with a look I’d never seen from him before: uncertainty. With a subtle shake of his head that was as much a warning to me to stay put as it was a clear indication of his stance on the scene, Matt clenched his jaw and then turned back to Miles.

“Fifty thousand,” Miles began again, in a cold, conversational tone, “At…let’s say…eight percent over two weeks-“

“One week,” Robert dumbly blurted out, his voice shaking.

Miles snorted in disbelief and wrapped his finger around the trigger, and pressed the barrel of the gun to Robert’s cheek with a sneer. “Do you really think you’re in a position to split hairs with me?” Miles’ voice rang in the rafters of the vaulted ceiling and more than a few startled expressions rose in the crowd.

“Miles!” I heard myself gasp, stepping towards him. I didn’t have a plan - didn’t know what I was going to say, all I knew was that I had to stop him.

But someone stopped me. A large, heavy hand clapped onto my shoulder and yanked me back. “Easy, boy.” Homme’s voice curled in my ear like an asp, and I twisted in his grip. “Don’t interfere.”

Instinct kicked in at that moment, borne of panic, fear for Miles, and self-preservation. I drove an elbow back into Homme’s gut, and he let out a pitiful grunt, and his grip on me loosened. Glancing back at Miles, I found him still wielding a gun in Robert’s face as he calculated interest. Either he hadn’t noticed the small confrontation between Homme and me, or he didn’t care. I took comfort in the former, but it didn’t stop me from feeling sick at being handled by that mammoth brute. I could still feel him behind me, but when I went to move something hard pressed into my spine, and I suddenly, and very clearly, empathized with Robert. 

“I said don’t interfere,” Homme growled, driving the gun, and his point home.

“You gonna shoot me, Homme?” I muttered between clenched teeth, still watching Miles and Robert and Matthew. I tasted salt in my mouth as my stomach shrivelled.

He scoffed. “Are you calling my bluff, Alexander?” His mouth was hovering at my ear, words whispering through my hair as his free hand slid under my suit jacket at the back, and curled about my hip. “You should really start carrying a piece, don’t you think? Hmm? Something to protect yourself?”

“Get your hands offa me,” I growled, tightening my fists at my side.

“No,” Homme answered, pressing the gun into my spine once more. “We’re going to stay right here and watch. See how Miles is commanding the situation? Of course, you’re probably quite used to that, aren’t you, Alex? Being bossed around…told what to do…are you good at taking orders? I bet you are. What does Miles make you do? I bet some of his demands are quite… salacious?”

“You’re scum, Homme, you know that?”

The sound of his answering chuckle oozed around me. “I’m the lowest of the low, baby, in more ways than one. But that man right there - that spider-legged Scouser? He’s gonna go places for _me_ , Alexander. And no one is going to stop him. Especially you. So sit still, shut that pretty mouth, and watch the show.”

_Miles_ , I begged silently. _Look at me, Mi, _look_ at me. This isn’t you - you don’t kill people! I know this isn’t you, you can’t do this, Mi. Mi!_

Maybe he heard me. I’ll never know. But he did ease off a fraction, and I heard Homme behind him utter an insult regarding Miles’ masculinity. I didn’t care; I was too worried about Miles, and the anger still flashing in his eyes. Suddenly, he glanced back towards me, and I felt Homme’s hold on me lessen at the same time. I focused on Miles and gave another faint shake of my head.

His mouth wavered, and soon enough his trademark crooked grin formed. Looking back to Morrison, he pulled the gun from his cheek, and I saw the grooves dug into the skin in the shape of the barrel. “I’m not going to kill you in front of all these lovely people, Morrison,” he murmured darkly, lifting the gun away. “But I _will_ set an example.” 

There was a flurry of movement, another collective gasp, and then the gun went off, a deafening sound that made my ears ring and my body tremble. I’d started at the sound, and the sight of blood exploding where Morrison’s hand had been; Morrison himself howled as he crumbled to the carpet to cradle his injured hand. Matt let him go, stepping away with a bit of a grimace. More than a few guests screamed, and many moved away, but some lingered, stepping closer, craning their necks to see what had happened. Those who had been unfortunate to get front row seats were now spattered with the bits of flesh and bone that had been Morrison’s ring and pinky fingers. I forced myself not to gag, and stood perfectly still as Miles smiled placidly, and dropped the gun back into his shoulder holster before buttoning his jacket. 

Homme was pressed back against me, and I could tell he was smiling without having to turn around. “Wonder what he’s capable of without you getting in the way?”

I didn’t bother answering; Miles was already speaking again.

“Fifty thousand by the end of the week, or I’ll start taking interest in other body parts.” Miles glanced up at Matt with a look of distaste. “Get this cleaned up, aye? Show Mr. Morrison to his car.” He watched as Matt directed a few other guards in and saw to the removal of Miles’ less than trustworthy courier, and then he glanced up, blinking like he was coming out of a fog, and saw that everyone was watching him. “Just a little blood, folks. He’ll be fine. Though he’ll never bowl quite the same way.” He waited for a few nervous chuckles to swell in the room, and then he moved away, and found me in the audience.

I must have paled, been sweating, summat of the sort - Miles frowned as he eyed me up and down. My appearance had part to do with how he’d dealt with Morrison, sure, but the underlying cause had been solely Homme. 

“You all right, babe?” Miles asked, eyeing both me and Homme.

I nodded, opened my mouth to reply, but Homme spoke over me as his fingers slipped away from where they’d gripped me through Miles and Morrison’s entire exchange. I felt relief, but worried that there might be bruises later.

“Interesting choice, Kane. A couple of fingers for a missing fifty thou. What kind of message are you hoping to send?”

Miles never missed a beat and replied, “That people should think twice before taking things that don’t belong to them.”

Homme chuckled and glanced at where Morrison was still being carted through the room, delirious from shock and blood loss. “Counting up body parts: what do you think constitutes taking a man’s life?”

I didn’t miss the bored tone, and neither did Miles. I watched him narrow his gaze as his jaw tightened. “You think I don’t have the balls to kill someone?”

Homme stared down into Miles’ eyes for a moment, and then smiled with a firm nod. “There may be hope for you yet, Kane.” He then dismissed himself - though it seemed more like he dismissed Miles - and went to find Shuman.

+

Sex between Miles and I served a myriad of purposes. Mutual pleasure and release was at the top of the list, but it could also provide a sense of comfort, of contact, connection, distraction, and, in MIles’ case, it proved to be an excellent sleep aid. That night, when the party had ended and the guests had all gone, he’d cornered me, much to my anxious delight. The tone was hurried. Rough. Intense. I’d fucked and been fucked by Miles countless times, but that night was different. He’d made it hurt in the most amazing way, and his eyes had darkened as his hold on me tightened. 

He’d said things, too, about keeping me safe, keeping me at his side, always protecting me, and I’ll admit it got my heart racing and aching. His words made me claw at his shoulders, tear my fingers through his hair, bite the tendons on his neck. In a sense, we broke each other down, though Miles always had reserve defences firmly in place, even in times where I thought I’d finally stripped him down to his bones. I’d slept, or perhaps just dozed in the aftermath, and Miles had collapsed beside me like his body was iron. 

I woke to him snoring, sprawled on his back, his face awash in shadows, and the moonlight coming from the window at my side of the bed. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and I let my eyes wander over his hand where it lay low on his belly. Six hours ago, that hand had brandished a gun in a man’s face; moments later it had pulled the trigger and blown two fingers of that man’s hand in a fantastic spray of blood and bone. An hour ago, that hand had held me down, and made me beg in a multitude of ways. 

But before it got to that point, those hands had shown me just how real things were getting. Miles had let me hold the gun when we’d safely retreated to our room and were in the process of undressing. 

It sounds crazy, but a gun that’s been recently fired has a different feel than one that hasn’t. I’d handled Miles piece before, having to move it aside for my affections, but this was different. The thing was electric now, vibrating in my hand, and as I closed my fingers around the grip, Miles had grinned, and stepped back to look at me.

“I’m convinced that anything grasped in your delicate hand instantly becomes more attractive.” He groaned as my finger caressed the trigger, and he tilted his head and watched as my gaze fell and traced the lines of the SIG.

“Tell me what it felt like,” I heard myself rasp.

“Invigorating,” Miles supplied without hesitation.

“Really?” I stuttered in disbelief and raised the gun, feeling the weight of it. My finger moved on the trigger and I heard Miles take a quick breath before he moved behind me.

“Easy, laa,” he chuckled softly. “It’s still loaded. Here.” He moved so that he could bring my other hand up and hold the opposite side of the grip, and then together we held the thing, his thumb moving over a button on the side. “There, now,” he muttered,” pressing a kiss to my jaw. “Safety’s on.” In the next moment he let go, and backed away. “Look up, laa, and tell me what you see.”

I did as asked and startled myself in the process. “I... _oh_.” I definitely looked different. It didn’t seem out of place, but rather-

“It suits you,” Miles purred. The mirror’s reflection showed him moving to lounge in the chocolate colored club chair next to the armoire. Knees spread, clad only in his boxers, he reached for a pack of cigarettes on the low table beside him and lit one, smoke curling up around his head in a lazy blue haze while his sparkling eyes wandered up and down my stance.

“No, no, no,” I chuckled, shaking my head and lowering the gun. I cast a glance over my shoulder at him.

“Maybe a little clunky for your grip, but that’s easily remedied. I think I might be able to find something that will fit you just right.”

“It’s not necessary-”

Miles sat forward and eyed me sharply, making me cut off my words. “It is, Alex.” 

I shivered at the starkness of his tone. “Miles?”

“I very much fear it is.” He took another drag of his cigarette and then stood. “It’s a dangerous world we live in, laa, I’m sure you’ve realized that. An’ if you haven’t learned thus far, I protect my assets. As much as I want to be near you and keep you safe every moment, I can’t.”

“Miles, you’re making me nervous.” It was the truth. I was starting to think that perhaps he’d set his sights too high too quickly - but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

“All the more reason, then.” He ticked his head to one side, indicating that I should slip the gun back into the shoulder holster where it was hooked on the back of the door, and I moved to do so, quickly. When I turned back, he’d extinguished the cigarette and was lingering next to the bed, a smile flirting with his lips. “C’mere, laa,” he murmured, extending his hand.

So there I was, an hour or two later, with Miles snoring soundly, and me sitting on the edge of the bed staring at my hands, my brain going back to earlier. I’d thought the same thing Miles had voiced - the gun, for some reason, looked rather dangerous in my hand. And it had given me a thrill, more than I was willing to confess to anyone, especially myself. I looked back to Miles and took a breath, and wondered just when exactly the life I’d thought I’d signed on to had started to shift. This wasn’t just about money and coke and cars. Lives were at stake - mine, Miles’, any that got in the way, really. The fact that Miles felt I needed a gun was overwhelming. I’d have to learn how to use it.

I might even have to shoot someone with it.

I shook my head clear of the thought and moved to the armoire where a bottle of Ambien and a glass of water waited. I cupped two pills into my palm and threw them down my throat with a gulp of water before slipping back between the sheets. Sensing movement, Miles turned towards me and curled his leg over mine, and then looped a long, spindly arm across my torso. 

“Thought I would have worn you out,” he murmured, pressing his nose to my neck.

“I can’t shoot a gun, Miles,” I blurted out, scared out of my mind at the prospect of it. I didn’t care how badass I looked - I couldn’t believe that I would want to ever come to that point.

“Course you can,” Miles whispered, splaying his hand over my heart. “It’s in there, Al, baby, that desire, that passion. It just needs to find its way out. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but I have no doubt in your sense of self preservation.”

I shook my head, but Ambien works fast on me, and I could feel my mind already getting thick. “Can’t,” I struggled to say once more.

Miles hummed and pressed up on one hand, hovering over me as my eyes slipped and slid closed. I forced them to half mast, watched him descend, felt his lips soft and warm against mine. His reply was the last thing I remembered from that night: 

“I’ll teach you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pics of Alex's watch and Miles' gun can be found on my tumblr over @kittykillswitch - they're tagged under 'dark things implied'.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard disclaimer applies - see chapter one.
> 
> A little late by my standards, but I think it's worth it. I go from third person POV to first in this chapter, but it's a smooth transition and you shouldn't have any problems following along. Thank you for the niceness :)

Miles had left the next morning, but the events leading up to his departure had been anything but sentimental. Nervous about Miles’ impending meetings, Alex had begged to accompany Miles, insisting that he needed to be there, if in no other capacity than moral support. And Miles being Miles had adamantly refused, telling Alex all the reasons why it wasn’t necessary, why it was dangerous and then, when Alex refused to back down, why it was absurd.

_“Alex, you can’t even hold a fookin’ gun without gettin’ twitchy - what good would you be to me?”_

_Alex had blinked, felt his bottom lip wobble in the very slightest, a natural reaction to when Miles’ voice rose to fervent volume. He refused to cry - it would only serve to prove Miles’ point. “Miles,” Alex began, softening his tone, trying a different route. “You won’t even know I’m there. Let me come; I’ll check out a few jazz clubs, order room service...keep the bed warm, yeah?” He quirked a brow and spoke to Miles’ sensual side._

_The rueful chuckle that answered made Alex’s gut clench anxiously. “Baby, I gotta work,” Miles shrugged, turning to the closet to find a something suitable to wear on the flight to Chicago._

_Alex had let out a petulant sigh and sank back on the bed. “Fine.”_

_“Oh, don’t you pout,” Miles muttered, flicking through his selection of expensive suits. “I fookin’ hate when you pout, Alex, reminds me of a fifteen year old girl who doesn’t get her way.”_

_The dark-eyed man’s fingers curled into the comforter as his anger pitched and boiled. “Excuse me?” He hissed._

_“You heard me,” Miles carried on, settling on the black Gucci and the charcoal dress shirt to match. “You’re spoiled, Alex, through an’ through, an’ I think you know that. I didn’t help, of course, always lettin’ you get away wiv murder-”_

_“Are you fookin’ kidding me?” Alex snapped, vaulting off the bed and approaching Miles. “ **Everything** I’ve ever done has been for you - the clothes, the hair, the fact you won’t let me work or pursue my interests-”_

_It was Miles’ turn to interrupt. “Oh, aye, Alex, you’ve ‘ad it so hard, haven’t you? Bein’ a pampered lit’l plaything for me.”_

_“Stop it,” Alex sneered, feeling the tears he’d stayed moments before begin to well, and begin to roll down his cheeks._

_“Lookit you, you can’t even hold it together when faced with the truth.”_

_Alex gasped sharply and stared up at Miles, at a loss as to where his words were coming from. “You don’t mean that,” Alex whispered shakily. Still, he furiously wiped at his tears with shaking hands._

_Miles snorted and shook his head. “Look, Alex. I’ve a lot on me mind lately - this isn’t helpin’. You want to know what you can do for me? You can stay here outta harm’s way, an’ let me work.”_

_“Yeah,” Alex rasped, backing down and feeling his cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Yeah, you go to fookin’ Chicago,” he said in the next breath, narrowing his gaze at Miles. “Don’t get yourself killed, reyt?” Then he turned on his heel, and stormed out of the bedroom._

Alex had festered over the row for the rest of that day, barely muttering a goodbye when Miles had left the mansion. He’d spent the rest of the day doing as much as he could to stay occupied, and to prove to himself that he was more than a ‘pampered plaything’. He headed downtown, made a trip to the bookstore to find new things to line his shelves, hit up a coffee shop, wandered along the strip, took in a matinee, ate greasy pizza at a dive joint while he drank domestic beer from the bottle - all the things he would have done were he still a student.

And all done on Miles’ dime.

God, even when he was trying to make the opposite point he ended up proving Miles right. Alex wadded up his napkin and propped his head on his hand, turning back towards the tables scattered on the outdoor patio of _Brickyard Pizza_ , and let his mind wander as he people-watched. There were more than a few couples dotting the seats, and he watched them with an observant eye, making up stories for them as he watched them interact. No matter what he drummed up, one thought remained true among all of them: they respected one another. 

The words from that morning’s argument with Miles came tumbling back through Alex’s mind, and he sifted through them, analyzing the conversation. What he came up with was this: he was rather spoiled, in the best possible way, and Miles had given him anything and everything he asked for - it was only natural that Miles wanted to keep him happy and safe. That was love, wasn’t it? It seemed to be so in Alex’s mind, and he suddenly began to feel rather foolish with the way he’d acted. Miles wasn’t far from the mark. _I **am** a brat_ , Alex thought morosely. _Whinin’ an’ bitchin’ when Miles won’t take me somewhere we bof know will be dangerous._ He needed to talk to Miles. Draining the rest of his beer, and handing his tab to a passing waitress, Alex ducked off the patio and wandered down the boardwalk until he came to a bench facing the water. He slunk down, stretched out his legs, and dug into his pocket for his phone.

_**“This is Kane. You know what to do.” -Beep-** _

“Hi,” Alex huffed down the line, leaning back against the bench. “It’s me. I mean, of course it’s me. I...uh...Look, babeh, I know you’re just lookin’ out for me, yeah? An’ I were way outta line wiv how I reacted when all you want to do is keep me safe. I get that. M’sorreh; I hate it when we fight, an’ I hate that I have to leave this stupid message. Can you call me back, Miles? I really need to hear your voice. I...erhm...hope you’re gettin’ fings done. Miss you.” Alex paused and licked his lips before he spoke the next words. “Love you.” They felt strange on his tongue, but he said them anyway. He ended the call, and slipped his phone back into his pocket with a sigh.

By the time he returned to the mansion, the sun was setting, and Miles hadn’t returned his call. Alex was getting anxious, and pulled out his phone once more as he climbed the stairs towards their bedroom, and thumbed a quick message:

_**Not talkin’ to me still? C’mon, just text me back and tell me you’re all right. xox** _

He skipped dinner, not that it was much of an affair for one person, and decided that a swim was in order to clear his head. Changing out of his jeans and long-sleeved tee, he tugged a pair of closely cut swim boxers on, grabbed a towel, and headed back downstairs, and out onto the patio. The warm, chlorinated air surrounded him as he neared the pool area, and he smiled faintly at the sight of turquoise water, and large underwater lights. Slashing his limbs through the water until they burned always grounded Alex, made him able to put things into perspective. A set of laps, back and forth a dozen times, would set him straight. Diving in, he wasted no time in setting himself up and beginning his first length.

His emotions had certainly run the gamut that day. Starting after midnight with a heady rush of arousal, intrigue, and a streak of fear, Alex had woken giddy, and his hard on digging into Miles’ thigh had served as the Scouser’s wake-up call which was promptly answered. From there it had spiralled. Snippets of their fight echoed in Alex’s ears beyond the pull and rush of water surrounding him; he flipped through random images from the day - at the bookstore alone, the cafe alone, the matinee, the pizza place, the blinding sunset on the beach, dinner, and now, all alone, and terribly isolated. It scared him, the thought of losing Miles, and he turned, flipping underwater in a smooth arc, and pushed off the wall, cutting through the water like a harpoon, and gaining speed.

Bubbles streamed from his nose, chlorine stung his eyes, and his lungs were screaming, but Alex didn’t quit until he was choking on the emptiness of his chest and feeling the carbon dioxide start to fizz in his fingertips and toes. At that moment, he broke through the surface, coughing, sputtering, sweeping his hair from his eyes and blinking the burn away. The inground lights surrounding the pool, and those beneath the surface, were fractured, and Alex coughed again as he fought to focus his eyes, and quell the pounding of his heart. Rubbing at his nose, he waded out of the pool and gathered his phone and his towel from the chair where he’d left them, and moved to the hot tub that was tucked into a craggy grotto that was hidden from view of the main pool and the house.

He soaked. The hum of the jets drowned out the last vestiges of his thoughts, and he sank down to his neck, leaning his head back against the ledge and closing his eyes. Exhaustion was catching up with him, and he thought about moving back into the house quickly to perhaps put something in his system that would make him buzz for a bit, when another type of buzz interrupted his thoughts. He cracked an eye open and craned his head back, glancing at the phone where he’d set it on his towel.

Miles’ name flashed across the screen, and Alex scrambled up and out of the spa, and quickly wiped his hands, already smiling as he answered the call and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Knew you couldn’t go to sleep wivout sayin’ goodnight, babeh,” Alex purred, moving to lounge on one of the benches carved directly into the grotto. When he was met with silence, he mentally cursed shitty cell reception and leaned forward. “Mi? Can you hear me, love?”

“Alex.”

His breath hitched. It wasn’t Miles on the other end, it was Matt. He felt his heart clench. “Matthew,” Alex dared to croak. No one answered Miles’ phone save for Miles, under any circumstance. 

On the other end, Matt let out a stiff sigh, but didn't say anything.

A cold wad of dread dropped into Alex's stomach at the silence on the other end. “What happened,” Alex numbly mumbled, dark spots flaring at the edges of his vision.

“It’s okay, Miles is okay, but you need to-”

“ _What happened!_ ” Alex roared, his voice echoing off the stone surrounding him.

“He got shot,” Matt carefully answered after waiting a moment. “He got shot, they were waiting for him and...he’s in critical, but stable condition, Alex.”

“Who?” Alex barked, standing on shaking legs and pacing out of the grotto into the suddenly chilled air. “Who were waiting? What are you saying?”

“It were a hit, I fink, I dunno, it’s…” Matt stopped and hissed, and then groaned.

“Are _you_ all right?” Alex pressed.

“M’fine. It’s nowt. Took a bullet in me shoulder, not serious.”

Alex’s breath hitched and his pulse began to patter in his veins, thumping until he was certain his arteries would bust out of his skin. Already moving across the patio, he wasn’t aware he’d made it to the house until suddenly he was passing through the kitchen en route to his room and his suitcase. “I need to be there. I’m coming, Matt, I’m -”

“No - I mean...not right away, you can’t, we don’t know if this were an actual hit, or a mistake, or...random...If owt happed to you, Miles would have me head. An’ he’d be a wreck, Alex. It wouldn’t help his current state.”

“Jesus _Christ _, Matt, you can’t expect me to stay _here_! I’m all alone, and - and...oh, God, Matt, what if he-he-” Alex hiccuped as he became hysteric and he found the edge of the bed gracelessly. “For _fook’s_ sake, Matthew, what the _hell_ happened?”__

+

My hatred of hospitals developed when I were a teenager, an only child with a dying mother. I associated those cold, sterile buildings with nowt but incurable illness, and death, and while I’m older now and understand that’s only one part of the picture, the dread was still present, along with the scent of medicine, as I stood at the nurses’ station of ICU at Northwestern Memorial four days after Matt’s initial phone call. I hadn’t slept since that night; at least, not what anyone would define as quality sleep. It was more of a turbulent thrashing of sheets, small doses of dozing, and hours on the phone with Matt back and forth, trying to glean any sort of information we could to piece together the events of Miles’ shooting. Eating had taken a backseat to the task at hand, too, and i feared that my negligence of basic needs was starting to catch up with me. I refused to take anything for the bout of insomnia, too afraid that Ambien wold make me slip too quickly, and I'd miss a phone call with an update to Miles' wellbeing. 

“Are you next of kin?” 

My gaze, directed down the darkened hallway, snapped back to the forty-something year old nurse behind the desk who clicked away on a computer, and asked me all sorts of questions. 

“Am I - what?” 

The nurse - his name tag said Dan Reynolds, RN - gave me a smile I guessed were supposed to be sympathetic. “Your relationship to Mr. Kane, Mr. Turner. In a situation like this, we need to be cautious, not only for the patient’s health, but for security reasons.” 

“Security reasons?” I echoed. “Are the...are the police involved?” 

Dan typed a few more things on the keyboard, but he shook his head before looking back at me with a pointed look. “Mr. Homme has asked that a record of visitors is kept.” 

“Mr...Homme.” I seethed, and a sensation of lightheadedness swept over me. 

“Sir? Are you well?” 

“M’fine,” I answered dazedly, as the nausea welled in my gullet. 

“You certainly don’t look it. Please, have a seat, it will only take a moment to get clearance - can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? Maybe some juice, you look peaked.” 

“Yes, all right,” I mumbled, taking the chair he gestured to, one in a row of them along the wall. I collapsed there, hands shaking, mouth going dry. 

Had that nurse said he had to get clearance? Christ, it had been four days since Miles had been shot, and I’d been living in the Twilight Zone ever since. Nothing made sense anymore - I couldn’t get a straight answer from Matt because he couldn’t get a straight answer from anyone else. The only thing I had any certainty about was Miles’ wellbeing, and that was a scant relief. He was stable, levelling up from critical, but he was still out of it more often than not. According to Matt, the attending surgeon had said Miles had been lucky - _very_ lucky, which didn’t exactly give me a stellar sense of security. 

I don’t know how long I sat there for - at one point, I drifted off, not really sleeping, but more just shutting down, staring at the ancient coffee machine in front of me. I never could quite figure out why the other vending machines, for water and soft drinks, looked like state-of-the-art rocket ship components, while the coffee machines were relics from the seventies, their contents probably from the same era. 

“Alex?” 

I blinked at the sound of my name and turned, and saw Matt moving up the hallway from behind the nurses’ station. Giving him a weak smile, I made no other attempt to move - I hadn’t the energy to do so. 

“Jesus, Alex, ‘ow long you been out here?” 

“Dunno,” I mumbled, sighing as Matt took the chair next to me put a hand on my shoulder. “Long enough?” 

“Why the _fook_ didn’t anyone come to get me? I were in Miles’ room-” 

“I’m waiting for clearance,” I explained rather dumbly. I glanced at Matt, feeling myself begin to slowly fall to pieces. “Can you believe it? Clearance from _Homme_.” 

Matt sneered, but nodded reluctantly. “Aye, he’s been runnin’ the show since Monday night.” 

Taking a closer look at Matt, I noticed that he were as haggard as I, perhaps more so. He hadn’t shaved in the time he’d been here, and his hair was unkempt, fluffing up in tight curls as opposed to the way he kept it slicked back, the sides clipped down to the skin. Bluish bruises ringed his eyes, but the worst part was the sling in which sat his right arm, no doubt to keep it immobile as the wound on his shoulder healed. 

“But - but you’re all right, right? I mean, if you’re okay, why is Homme-” 

“Came down from the top - from Clarke himself.” 

“ _Clarke_?” I echoed. “Fuck me, Matthew, John Cooper Clarke doesn’t get involved unless he has to. He’s a fookin’ recluse, a fossil - he usually lets it get sorted out at the lower levels.” 

“I know.” Matt’s voice was tight; I could tell he didn’t agree on anything that had happened. 

“Tell me how Miles is,” I begged. “Please, Matthew, I need to know.” 

Matt shrugged as best he could and leaned back into the chair with a sigh. “He’s about as good as he was yesterday when I talked to you. Slipping in and out of consciousness, but his heart rate and pulse is steady. Can you believe they took six bullets outta him and _none_ of them hit a major artery?” 

I snorted. “Stubborn, as always. That, and then gunman had incredibly poor aim.” 

“Eh,” Matt muttered, pointed at his arm. “Put me down quick enough.” 

I frowned at my comment and gave Matt an apologetic smile. Then I asked, “ _No one_ got a round off on him?” 

“I can’t say for certain - my main concern were Miles. As soon as bullets started flyin’, he were dodgin’ em, and I were doin’ me best to get between him and the bullets.” Matt paused and looked at me. “It was close, Al. Really close.” Matt didn’t often call me ‘Al’, only in rare moments like these, and I felt the emotion behind it. He tightened his good hand into a fist and dug it into his knee. “I feel so fookin’ useless.” 

“I know,” I said gently, not knowing what else to do for him. We weren’t exactly close, but I had a feeling we felt strongly about certain things - perhaps it was because we were, more or less, in exactly the same predicament: Miles’ possessions, his to use as he needed them, and now, as Matt pointed out, pretty much useless. 

“I don’t even know if it’s a good idea for you to be here,” Matt continued, his voice rough. “I don’t know how safe it is, or, like...if there’s any reason to be concerned in the first place.” He gave me a smile then, a genuine one that lit up his face considerably. “He’ll be happy to see you, though. He’s asked for you a few times. Said your name at least. Maybe he’ll come around for you.” 

_“Mr. Tuner?” I watched as Dan approached me and held out a plastic cup filled with juice. “Drink that, you’ll feel better. I spoke with Mr. Homme, the head of Mr. Kane’s security-”_

“Excuse me,” I said after I’d swallowed a mouthful of juice. “But Matt here is the head of Miles’ security. What I’m trying to understand is that while you’re asking _me_ if I’m Miles’ next of kin - and believe me, I’m the closest he’s got - Mr. Homme, who has no blood relation, or marital status with Miles, has suddenly appointed himself in that position.” I set the glass down and stood, looking Dan in the eye. “I don’t give a flyin’ fuck if Homme is Saint Peter, right? That’s _my_ partner in there, full o’holes, an clingin’ to life. M’done sittin’ out here waiting to see him. Matthew, what room is he in?” 

“Fifteen,” Matt replied, already standing. 

Dan shook his head and stepped in front of me. but I wasn’t going to listen to him anymore. Slipping past him, despite his protests, I proceeded up the hall. 

“Mr. Turner!” Dan called. “I have my orders, and I’ll ask that you adhere to them-” 

I tuned out Dan as Josh emerged in the hallway before me. I skidded to a halt and stared, watching him watching me as he closed the door to room fifteen behind him. Heart in my throat, it turned sour as I watched Josh glance behind me, nod to Dan that it was fine, and then turn sympathetic eyes on me. 

With a sigh, Josh shook his head. “Alex,” he said gently, “I’m so sorry for what happened. But it isn’t safe for you to be here. Not at this time.” He paused, resting a large hand on my shoulder, thumb pressing into the spaces between the bones. “Let me take you back to the hotel-” 

“Get the _fuck_ out of my way, Homme.” I violently shrugged away from his touch. “I’m here to see Miles - I need to see Miles. I don’t expect you to even understand, but please, I’m begging you, let me see him!” 

By then, Matt had approached, and stood at my side, stoic once more, and silently challenging Homme with his hard gaze. “Nowt’s gonna happen to him wiv me here, yeah? Let him in.” 

Homme considered Matt’s proposal for a moment, and then shook his head, but he still stepped aside. “Keep it short, keep it quiet, and-” 

“Do _not_ fucking tell me what to do,” I snarled. I narrowed my gaze up at him and then pushed past, and slipped inside of Miles’ room. 

+

Miles wasn’t a large man - at 5’11”, he was slim, bird-boned, but sinewy, powerful and indestructible. At least, that was how I always saw him. I thought for a moment that I’d walked into the wrong room, or that perhaps I was dreaming again. On his back, under those thin, hospital blankets, hooked up to a half-dozen machines, he looked like my mother had near the end: frail, and spent. The only difference was the color in MIles’ cheeks, something my mother had lost early on. I had to steady myself on the doorframe, catch my breath and choke back on a sob that threatened to spill. The beep of his heart monitor was strong, and steady, but it gave me little comfort. Slowly, I took a step towards the bed, and then another. 

The sight of him went blurry as every tear I’d saved up since Matt’s initial call suddenly flooded my eyes. I gladly let myself be swept under the waves of emotion, and sniffled, and sobbed, pitiful sounds welling out me throat that rivalled those of slaughtered lambs. My shoes scraped across the floor as I shuffled at the bedside, and my fingertips dropped down to the bed, feeling the scrape of industrially washed sheets against my skin. Then, I was touching Miles, and it felt incredibly alien. 

So, I sat. There was a chair there, like it had been set out for me, but a part of me told me that it was where Homme had been sitting before our meeting in the hallway. That in itself didn’t sit right with me; nothing about the situation did, of course. But I sat and I traced the veins on the back of Miles’ hand, careful not to disrupt the heart rate monitor clipped onto the tip of his index finger, or the thin cord of PVC tubing that was protruding from the back of his hand, feeding him whatever it was that would make him heal. There was bruising around the area, but it was nothing compared to the ugly bloom of red and purple I could just make out peeking from the collar of the hospital gown he wore. His jaw was slack, lips cracked, and dried, and my own lips quivered in response - I hadn’t even kissed him goodbye; hadn’t kissed him since the night I’d held his gun and he’d promised to teach me how to use it. 

“Mi,” I whispered gently, frowning and turning his hand over, trying to evoke a response, a twitch of his fingers, a clench of his hand, anything, really. “Mi, babeh, it’s me, Alex. I’m here, yeah?” I drew a shuddering breath and let it out slowly, but it got caught around the lump in my throat. “Jesus Christ, this is fooked, innit? What happened?” My voice sounded so strange and hollow in the relative silence of the room. Footsteps outside the door made me pause, and caused me to tense. Tears were tracking down my cheeks, dropping steadily to make little puddles on Miles’ hand, and I wiped at the wetness on my cheeks. 

A sob came next, a violent one, strangled out of me throat, no sound, no air, just an opening of my jaw, the wetness of my tongue moving, and the beating of my heart hammering in my ears so loudly that they began to ring. 

“I-” my voice cracked, and I coughed, and sniffled, and tried to smile for my sake, and for Miles’. “I know you probably don’t want me here,” I admitted softly. “That it isn’t safe. But that’s exactly why I _am_ here, Miles, I don’t feel safe when you’re not around. You’re me hidin’ place, yeah? You’ve...shit’s gone sideways, an’ you need to wake up, you hear me? Don’t leave me here all alone, babeh.” I couldn’t help but claw at his hand, gripping it, and feeling the way it just lay there, cool, unresponsive, like...like he were dead, or close to it. 

Time slipped around me, liquid as it is in those times, but also solid, and unmoving. Nowt seemed to matter, not the day or the hour on the clock, nothing, but the man clinging to life as I clung to his hand. And then I heard it - a whisper of a dry voice, like autumn leaves as they cartwheel through an abandoned car park: 

“Alex.” 

The hand in mine twitched, and the fingers flexed, and I gasped and blinked my swollen eyes open, staring hard at Miles. 

“Aye, it’s me, Mi. I’m here.” 

“Shouldn’t-” he rasped, wincing when his voice didn’t work properly. “Can’t be here,” he managed to croak. 

Searching his face, my breath quickened as his eyes moved beneath his closed lids, and then, his lashes fluttered. 

“Go back.” He grunted and then moaned helplessly, shaking his head back and forth on the pillow. His heart rate picked up, the little _beep-beep-beep_ chirping rapidly. 

“Miles-” 

“Hnfff,” he mumbled. “Not safe here.” 

“Miles, I know, I joost-” 

The beeping increased; soon the room would no doubt be flooded with doctors and nurses as Miles’ vitals skipped and spiked all over the place. My time here was short, for now, but I knew what I had to do. 

Miles was right. It wasn’t safe here, not for me, and certainly not for him. I had only one choice: I had to get Miles back to LA as quickly as possible. 


	4. Chapter 4

It had taken some convincing - bribery and threats in this case - but Miles was discharged still in serious condition with strict orders that he was to stay in bed, heavily medicated so that he would rest, and therefore heal. I’d made arrangements for round-the-clock care staff, nurses, and two doctors - his personal one, Dr. Sharrock; and an alternate, Dr. Mitchell, in case Dr. Sharrock was unavailable. 

The first week was touch and go. Transporting Miles had been done via med-lift, and we’d been greeted at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center by Dr. Sharrock and his team, and from there we’d been moved to the house on Venice Beach by private ambulance. A bed in the first floor parlour had been made up; the room itself turned into a convalescent suite with soft lighting, minimal stimuli, and all the latest in medical technology. 

Dr. Sharrock assured me that Miles would be fine, that he was strong, and none of his organs had suffered trauma, but I couldn’t help but feel lost - Miles was still so far away from me. Other than a few lucid moments, he’d been under heavy doses of morphine and oxycontin, and slept almost twenty-four hours a day. I sat with him for almost eight of those, reading to him, playing music, talking to him, and avoiding Matt’s sympathetic gaze. It was hard enough seeing Miles suffer; it was another thing entirely being watched while you suffer the pain of someone else. All of my emotions were on display and while I knew Matt wasn’t one to judge, I couldn’t help but feel that way.

At the same time, I was also dealing with the fact that Joshua Homme, sleazebag extraordinaire, had managed to wedge himself not only into the home I shared with Miles, but also our lives in general. The free and easy feeling I’d maintained when I’d first come to live with Miles in Venice Beach was quickly dissolving. It was as if I couldn’t get free of him or his watchful eye, and I began to loathe any moment spent in the house where I wasn’t at Miles’ side. Even those moments were oft tarnished, with Homme sweeping into Miles’ east facing suites with news of business on one coast or another.

“You do realize that he’s recovering from _multiple_ gunshot wounds,” I’d pointed out to Homme one day as he bustled in, Shuman in tow, going on about some deal in Boston. “He’s in no shape to be racking numbers or putting deals into play.”

Homme paused his rapid-fire conversation with whomever was on the other end of the phone and levelled me with a condescending glance. “Alex, love, don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got it taken care of, right? Clarke trusts me.” Then, he glanced to where Miles was lying prone, eyes yet to open, breath steady, machines keeping time. “I’m sure if Miles could talk, he’d say the same. You should trust me, too.” 

I glared at him, unnerved with his audacity, and blatant disregard for the master of the house laying not six feet from him, recovering from a hit that we still had no clues on. My jaw tightened and I quickly looked back to Miles, trying to ground myself. “I’m gonna go,” I whispered to him, leaning forward to press a kiss to his eyebrow. “No partyin’.” I’d smiled weakly at my joke then, and sighed, standing straight and gathering my glasses and my book from the table next to Miles’ bed.

“Off to spend Miles’ money, are we?” Josh called as I moved towards the door.

My hand tightened where it had landed on the doorknob, and I narrowed my eyes at Homme from over my shoulder. “Don’t be here when I get back,” I snarled. It sounded more threatening than I felt, but I’d always prided myself on keeping a cool exterior.

Homme laughed, and leaned back in the chair he occupied. Folding his arms behind his head, he affected a smug repose, and I half expected him to kick his feet up onto the desk behind which he sat.

“Oh, Alex,” Homme sighed mockingly. “I think it’s time you realize that I’m here for the long haul. Clarke put me in charge. I’m moving in, boy. For your safety, as much as Miles’.”

I yanked the door open as the sound of Homme chuckling surrounded me. When I’d stepped into the hallway, I pulled the door shut once more and let out the breath I’d been holding since Homme had oozed in. I made a beeline for my bedroom, and found solace there until the evening hours when I ventured out to Canopy 19 to lose myself in cocaine and whiskey. 

+

The second week wasn’t much better than the first, but Miles had made a little bit of progress. His waking moments were a little longer; he could actually carry a conversation, but most of those were hushed between he and Matt, or worse, he and Homme. I lingered for the latter, creeping the fringes of the interactions, one worried eye trained on Miles - it wouldn’t do him any good to get angered or stressed - and one wary one locked on Homme. I still didn’t know what his game was.

What _was_ obvious, however, was that Homme was slowly infecting the household and tainting everything within with his own brand of terror. It were small things, snide remarks, flippant observations, varying degrees of dismissal, all directed towards the house staff, and some members of the security team. Ford trudged around the house like a kicked puppy with distemper. He’d snarl behind Homme’s back, but when Homme issued an order, or a new procedure, Ford rolled over and took it. I chalked it up to self preservation, but I could tell the usual tone of the house, that of tight screws and strict adherence to Miles’ policies, was beginning to turn lax. People were quicker to hop to Homme’s orders, perhaps out of fear, or loathing, or the combination of the two. The less resistance shown towards their temporary master, the less they’d have to endure the abuse. I was sure to avoid the beast whenever I could.

Being head of security, however, meant that Homme had access to the camera system, and therefore had a view of every entrance, every room, every nook and cranny, even those on the lower levels, save for the bedroom I shared with Miles, Miles’ private study, and my own private bedroom I still kept. 

I felt sick that Homme had managed to weasel the codes for those cameras from Ford, but when I saw ford slink by one morning with a blackened eye and a swollen lip, bandage over his nose, I couldn’t blame the man for folding. Homme was a brute, and wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, it seemed. Still, Ford giving up the codes meant that I didn’t feel safe anywhere in that house. And I wouldn’t let him make me a prisoner to those three rooms where the cameras didn’t pry.

As it was, Homme always knew where I was, and he used it to his advantage. A terribly cold feeling of dread settled in my stomach when I wandered into the kitchen one morning and he was already there, directing Charlotte, the weekday cook, on making breakfast.

 _My_ breakfast.

One that’d I’d been having every morning for more than year: Two eggs, over easy, half a grapefruit, whole grain toast.

“Creature of habit, aren’t you, Alex?” Homme had mused, looking up from where he stood over Charlotte’s shoulder. “Up at seven every morning, swimming two dozen laps, then down here for breakfast. Always the same, too. Don’t you ever get tired of having the same thing?” He winked. “Except for Saturdays. On Saturdays, you laze about until ten at least, watching _Danger Mouse_ reruns and eating ricotta crepes. Christ, Miles got himself a real trophy, didn’t he?” I felt nauseous as he replayed my very habitual lifestyle, but he’d already turned his attentions back to Charlotte.

The poor girl was a wreck standing under his watchful gaze, and I didn’t miss the way he slid behind her, put his meaty paws on her waist as he leaned down seemingly to watch her cook. Charlotte’s jaw was stiff, and more than once she closed her eyes as if finding the strength to keep from lashing out and slapping Homme in the face. Instead, she cooked silently, her movements choppy, her hands shaking, not at all like the congenial young woman who every morning chattered on with me as she worked.

“Looks delicious,” Homme purred, turning his gaze at me and smiling. “Maybe I’ll have her make two plates up? We can eat on the terrace.”

The terrace was _our_ place to eat, mine and Miles’, and I seethed as I looked Homme over once, and then focused on Charlotte.

“Charlotte, darling, why don’t you take some orange juice in to Miles? I can finish here.”

Her green eyes found me and her look went from startled to relieved as she moved to set the spatula down on the stovetop.

“No,” Homme huffed, putting his fingers around her wrist and staying her movement. “You’ll finish Alex’s breakfast, then you’ll cook mine.” He looked at me blankly, issuing a challenge.

“Look, you may think you’re running the entire show around here, Homme, but as far as I’m concerned, you’ve got control over one thing: the security cameras. _I’m_ the one who’s in charge of the house, and the staff in it, so I’ll thank you in advance to not _terrorize_ Charlotte, or anyone else working here.”

The smug prick had the nerve to give me a mock-offended look, followed by a hefty scoff. “Did I upset the little housewife?” He snarked.

My hands tightened into fists, but I refused to give him fuel to fire.

He continued anyway. “And ‘terrorize’ is such an awful word, Alexander, I was merely...admiring Charlotte’s touch in the kitchen.” As he spoke, he knuckled a finger down the side of her neck and then twirled said finger into a fine lock of blonde hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Perhaps you’d like to take over so I can admire _you_ for a bit?” He raked his piercing blue gaze over me and I felt ill. “I’ll bet you look incredibly sexy in this apron.” He left off Charlotte’s hair and toyed with the knot of her apron strings, plucking one and slowly pulling it from the bow it was wound in.

Charlotte made a sound in her throat and the spatula clattered to the stove top. The sound distracted Homme enough that I reached for Charlotte’s hand and pulled her away from Homme, and pushed her behind me. “Charlotte, take the rest of the day, love,” I growled over my shoulder, keeping my eyes on Homme.

“Al - Alex?” she asked cautiously. Her voice trembled.

“It’s fine, really.” Homme’s face turned stony, and something flickered in his eyes. “You’ll still get the full week’s pay,” I continued to Charlotte. “I’ll call you when it’s safe to come back.”

“O-okay,” she murmured. I didn’t turn to watch, but I heard her scurry from the kitchen.

Homme quirked a pale brow at me. “Calling my bluff. I like that, Alex. Shows me you’re not afraid to back down. Gives me some sport. I like the spirited ones.” He moved the pan from the burner and turned the gas off, and then took another step towards me.

Of course I backed away, but in doing so, my foot snared the bottom rung of a bar stool stacked against the breakfast bar. I faltered, and reached for the counter as Homme snapped up my wrist in his grasp and yanked me upright.

“I thought swimmers were supposed to be graceful?”

I yanked my hand free. “That’s _dancers_ , you asshole.”

Not to be discouraged, he continued, “You’re just as enjoyable to watch in the water, you know that?”

Repulsed, I turned my head away, and stiffened as he took another two steps and crawled into my personal space. The fronts of his thighs brushed mine and I resisted the urge to squeeze my eyes shut like I were escaping the boogeyman in my closet.

“Get away from me,” I uttered flatly.

“Hmm,” Homme murmured. His belt buckle dug into my gut just below my solar plexus, alerting me to the stark difference in height between us. “Where’s that fight gone, Alexander?” His voice was a whisper against the side of my face, and I broke out in a cold sweat.

The heavy weight of his hand clamped onto my hip, long fingers curving down way past the point of decency, and I snapped to life, twisting from his grasp as I shoved him hard, and slid around to put the breakfast bar between us.

“ _There_ it is,” Homme smirked. “Looks like I just needed to apply a bit of direct pressure. I wonder what else gets a reaction from you?”

“Your entire existence makes me want to heave, that a good enough reaction?”

Homme chuckled, and it was anything but mirthful. “I told you, Alex. You may as well get used to me. I’m here to stay, at least while your precious Miles recovers. Who knows...you may even begin to _like_ me, if you give me the chance.” He smirked, and winked once more.

“Don’t hold your breath,” I snapped. I stalked out of the kitchen and made my way to Miles’ rooms.

+

The mood my encounter with Homme had put me in lifted considerably when I entered the room and saw that Miles was awake, and speaking with Matthew. He was even sitting up in bed, his attention focused sharply on Matthew, but when my movement alerted my presence, Miles leaned back and smiled broadly at me, and gave Matthew a faint nod of dismissal.

They’d finish their conversation later, I translated. I smiled for Miles’ sake and approached the bed, watching as he frowned when he looked me over.

“Al, darling, your neck is flushed - are you all right?”

I automatically reached for my neck, knowing that the redness there was a direct result of my collision with Homme. I broke out red and blotchy when confronted, or stressed. Nodding, I took the seat at Miles’ bedside and brushed a bit of hair from his eyes. “I’m fine, really. Just...just anxious to see you. You’re awake. I’ve missed you looking at me.”

“Hmmm,” Miles grinned, pressing his face into my hand. “Missed lookin’ at ya, laa. What have you been up to, eh? Gettin’ bored without me? Sharrock says I’ve another two weeks laid up until I’m healed enough to move about.”

“But you’ll take it easy,” I pressed, knowing full well that Miles had only one thing on his mind: getting back on his feet, and getting back into the business. I raised an eyebrow pointedly, and then glanced at Matthew with the same sentiment.

“Of course, laa,” Miles laughed, but I didn’t miss the glance he exchanged with Matthew.

That was the course of things, really. I was afforded soft smiles of reassurance from Miles, but occasionally, when Matt wasn’t giving me an eye of sympathy, he was giving me one of concern, and I didn’t care much for that, either. 

+

“You can’t talk like I’m not in the room, you know,” I’d groused the next morning as I wandered into the kitchen to find Matt standing at the counter, reading the paper and spooning cornflakes into his mouth. Homme was blessedly nowhere to be seen, and I relaxed my cautious stance a little bit, and headed for the fridge. I hadn’t called Charlotte back - I probably wouldn’t until next week, at this rate, and so breakfast was left my own hand. Not that I minded. A little taste of normalcy - of what I’d once lived - seemed to be in order while everything else seemed to be on the edge of chaos.

“The less you know,” Matt had mumbled around his mouthful, “the safer you are.”

I sighed as I stared into the fridge. “The only thing I really care about is whether or not we’ve figured out who Miles’ shooter is.” Finding nothing that spoke to my appetite, I swung the door closed. “Beyond that, I want Miles to get better. I don’t appreciate you havin’ your little powwows like I’m non-existent.” I leveled Matt with an expectant look.

“We don’t know who it is. At least, it’s not concrete. We have a few theories but-”

“Who?” I snapped, moving to stand in front of Matt on the other side of the breakfast bar.

Matt sighed and shook his head. “Just... theories.” He suddenly became very interested in his cereal once more.

“Great. I’m in fucking limbo and you an’ Miles think it perfect to play Isaac fookin’ Newton. You gonna act on any of these theories, or are we content to sit and wait for one of them to come busting in wiv guns blazin’?” I shuddered at the thought. Miles might not be so lucky next time.

But there couldn’t be a ‘next time.’ This was agony, and I wasn’t sure I’d the strength to endure it a second time.

“Alex,” Matt said levelly. “There’s nowt we can do at this point, even if we had a sure thing.” He sighed and ran a hand over his hair, and then made a weak gesture to his arm, still in a sling. “I’m not exactly operating at full capacity, and Miles certainly isn’t up for any action at this point. This is the hard part, you know. Waiting.”

“Like sittin’ ducks,” I growled. I pushed off the bar where I was leaning and crossed to the door leading out into the living room.

“Homme is coming by later today,” Matt called after me, his voice hoarse with concern. "He's moving the last of his effects in."

I whipped around to stare at him. “Jesus, he doesn’t give up, does he?”

Matt frowned, his brow furrowing. “Clarke gave him a job to do, Alex.”

“I’ve a mind to talk to Clarke myself.”

The look on Matt’s face turned to one of disbelief, and indulgence on my behalf, a combination that I was slowly becoming sick of. It was becoming perfectly clear to me that even now, my concerns were seen more as flighty protests thank concrete fear.

“Nobody talks to Clarke.”

“Except for Homme,” I snapped, distaste for Matt’s tone heavy in my voice.

“Even he has to work on Clarke’s terms. Alex.” Matt moved across the kitchen, abandoning the remainder of his cornflakes, and approached me with a stoic expression. “I’ll take care of it.”

There was courage in his conviction; I could see it in his eyes. But there was something else under the surface, a sliver of doubt, wedged into the pulp beneath the nail of the thumb he sought to hold everything down with. Matt was muscle, but he wasn’t charisma. He enforced, he didn’t engage. If Clarke was as elusive as he was rumored to be, then I couldn’t count on Matt to simply ‘take care of it.’ I smiled softly for his benefit; I did feel a little better knowing that he wasn’t completely ignorant of the situation.

But it was all so static.

“Thank you, Matt,” I replied softly. “I’ll be in the study for most of the day, I think, trying to keep myself distracted. Avoiding...unsavory entanglements.” I cocked an eyebrow at him pointedly.

Matt smirked. “He’s not exactly me favorite person, either.”

“Just...let me know when he arrives, yeah? So I’m prepared.”

Matt nodded, but his smile faded. “Are you scared?”

I looked away for a moment, gazing down the hallway, and worried my bottom lip with my teeth. The aching lump in my throat, and the pricking of my eyes betrayed the cool exterior I’d been holding up for the last sixteen days. “How can I not be?” I whispered.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I’m sorry I didn’t move fast enough, or didn’t aim properly or…”

“It’s okay,” I rushed to cut Matt off before he could beat himself up any more than he was prone to do. “It’s all right. I don’t blame you for any of this. But someone will pay, Matthew. I’ll make sure. Somehow, I’ll make sure.”

+

Miles’ study, where I’d locked myself, was a grand affair of low ceilings, dark, rich wood, deep, warm colors, leather chairs and sofas, and an antique billiards table. The desk was a behemoth, too, wide and solid, with drawers that locked. Not even I was afforded the whereabouts of the key, and after searching all the nooks and crannies of the office, pulling random books, feeling along picture frames and wall sconces, I was currently staring at the second drawer on the right hand side, trying to bore through the lock with my gaze alone. It wasn’t working. 

I needed to get into that drawer. Miles kept hardcopies of his contacts in there, all written down in his spider’s scrawl on the pages of a leather bound agenda. Searching his phone would have been too risky - it sat perched on his side table, and he had always seemed to have a sixth sense about his phone and its whereabouts. I didn’t need him coming round and seeing me perusing the thing. I also didn’t need Homme watching me. On instinct, I looked up, and scanned the corners of the room.

Of course, there were no cameras, but after being watched so closely for almost three weeks, I’d been on guard, a necessity, but a very unwelcome one. With the reassurance that I wasn’t being monitored, I scanned Miles’ desk, and the drawers that were unlocked, for something to aid my task.

It turned out that unlocking the drawer of an antique desk was as easy as it looked in the movies. No sooner had I squirreled out a letter opener was I slipping it between the drawer and the casing, finding the latch and nudging it to the side. Just as the lock cracked open, and the wood about the casing splintered, my phone began to vibrate where I’d set it on the blotter on the desk’s surface. Matt’s number flashed, and, still holding the letter opener wedged in the drawer, I managed to pick my phone up and thumb the call button.

“Hey,” I breathed. “Is he here?”

“He’s on his way down stairs.”

I choked on a sound of disbelief. “You _told_ him I was down here?”

“Alex, he’s got visual representation of the whole house - not to mention Ford is like a fookin’ zombie when he’s around, giving up any information asked for. Homme checked the records; it’s the first thing he does. He knows you haven’t left today. And he already checked your bedroom,” Matt finished with a growl.

I was already standing up, yanking the letter opener from the lock, wincing at the damaged wood. Miles wouldn’t be happy with that. But I had other things to concentrate on. Pushing the ornate length of pointed steel into one pocket, I quickly yanked open the drawer and fished out the agenda, dropping it to Miles’ desk and opening it. I flipped through pages, scanning for the name ‘Clarke’ until I found it - two phone numbers and an address. 

“Okay,” I breathed, remembering I still had Matt on the phone. “Okay, thank you.”

“Alex? What’s wrong?”

“Nowt,” I muttered, realizing that my voice, and my breath, were shaking. “I just don’t wanna deal with this asshole.”

“Then get back upstairs as soon as you can. Miles is asking for you,” he added.

“Right. Is he coming down from the living room?”

“Yeah,” Matt replied.

“Then I’ll come out the lower entrance by the grotto, double back through the kitchen.” I ended the call and then opened the camera on my phone, focusing on the page with Clarke’s contact information. I quickly snapped a picture, and then set the agenda back into the bottom of the drawer, before swiftly closing it.

I crossed the room with quick steps, and paused when I reached the door, pressing my ear to the wood in hopes that I would be able to hear if Homme had already arrived. There was nothing but muffled silence. With my teeth between my tongue I slowly slid the deadbolt open, and then turned the knob, wincing as it clicked. I waited another beat and then swung the door wide, certain that Homme would be there, leaning against the opposite wall and smirking.

The hall was empty.

It gave me a slick, cold feeling of uncertainty, and I pulled the door shut behind me as I stepped into the hall. Turning towards the lower exit that would lead me to the grotto, then up to the patio and back through the kitchen, my heart was in my throat as I swiftly cut through the hall. I turned another corner and froze in my tracks as Homme’s large, looming figure filled the hallway before me.

“Alexander!” he called brightly. His eyes were brittle.

“Homme,” I seethed.

“You are rather elusive, aren’t you? Sneaking about in the lower level, hiding in the rooms without cameras. You wouldn’t be trying to avoid me, would you?”

“What gave it away?” I snapped.

“Hm. Cute. Like I’ve already told you, I like a bit of spirit.” His face drew stony then as he walked towards me. “What were you doing in Miles’ office?”

I lifted my chin and tried to still myself, but my feet were already taking me backwards, and Homme smirked at my retreat. Slipping my hand into my pocket to check that my phone was still there, I encountered the cool blade of the letter opener, and stopped moving. “You said it: I was avoiding you.” I smiled cheekily.

“Is that _all_ you were doing? You weren’t...I don’t know..snooping about...looking for clues? Trying to figure out who shot Miles?” Homme snorted, as if the thought were amusing. "Think you’re some sort of Sherlock Holmes?” Those cold blue eyes turned darker, and his voice tightened as he spoke. “Maybe it was you who put the hit out? Trying to take over Miles’ fortune - surely he’s written you into his will?”

“You’re fookin’ off your nut, Homme, if you think for one _second_ that I would even consider hurting Miles.” I was more than offended, and my fist tightened around the handle of the opener.

“You know that disloyalty is one of Miles’ pet peeves, don’t you? He can’t stand being lied to, either. So...if I were to tell him that you were snooping about in his private study, what do you think he’d say?”

“I think he’d have plenty to say if he knew the reason why I was hiding out. You’re delusional, Homme, if you think you’ve got any sway here. When Miles is better-”

“Yes, Alex, ‘when’. The man was shot six times. I think he’ll be incapacitated for some time. So even if he _did_ know what a flirt you’ve been, there’s nothing he’d be able to do other than spout some harsh words, and maybe sic his trained monkey, Matthew, on me.” By now Josh was towering over me, trying to get me to move back so he could pin me against the wall behind me. He leaned in and spoke softly, “Matt’’s got a busted arm, and you haven’t got a leg to stand on, Alex.” He moved then, a hand on my chest, the other hooked into my belt, and he dove down as he yanked me forward, no doubt intent on violating me with his mouth.

In the next second, I pulled the letter opener from my pocket and pressed the point between his ribs, angled up, just like in the movies. I dug in hard enough to make him draw a breath and raise his brows at me.

“I’m impressed,” Homme murmured, glancing down to where I pressed the letter opener against his ribs. “Gonna hurt me, Alex?” His whisper was serpentine, and his smile matched.

“If I have to,” I rasped. I let out a startled yelp as I suddenly collided with the wall behind me, and my head banged against the plaster, making stars burst at the edges of my vision.

“Come one then,” Homme urged. “Just one push. That’s all you’ll need. That, and courage. Your love couldn’t pull the trigger to kill a man the other night - have you got what it takes, Alexander?” His grip tightened on my wrist and he pulled the blade against his body with a grunt, closing his eyes at the prick of pain. “God, it’d be a pleasure to die at your hands,” he added, before snapping his eyes open and squeezing my wrist to the point of pain.

I hissed, and my fingers flexed helplessly, dropping the letter opener to the floor where Homme kicked it away. It skittered over the slate and disappeared; and I swung my startled gaze back to Homme.

“Careful boy. You’re on dangerous ground. Walking a tightrope without a net.” He dove then, and tried once more to connect his mouth to mine.

I grunted and turned my head away, disgusted at the feel of his lips glancing off of my cheek. Curling my fingers into his chest, I pushed, and lashed out with every insult my racing mind could drum up. I flailed against the wall as my nostrils filled with the cloying scent of his cologne and I gnashed my teeth, ready to fight tooth and nail.

“Homme!”

I gasped and snapped my eyes open, watching Matt emerge from around the corner and stalk towards us.

Homme immediately stood straighter, though he angled his body in front of me, blocking me from Matthew’s view. I shrank against the plaster, guts roiling, skin twitching, and I wrenched his hand away from my belt with another string of curses.

Homme ignored me, and focused on Matthew instead. “Helders,” he said with a warning tone.

“Mr. Kane is awake. I thought you should know.” Matt’s tone was clipped, and brooked no argument. He meant it as a warning, though I’m certain Homme prefered not to heed it - I don’t even think he picked up on it.

Instead, Homme swung his eyes back to me. “Remember what I said about loyalty, Alexander,” he whispered with a leering wink. “Let’s keep this between you and me, shall we?” He stepped back and dropped my hand, and then chuckled as he turned to Matt. “Lead the way, Helders.”

Before he turned, Matt cast a wary glance at me, silently asking if I was all right. I waved him off, and ran a shaking hand through my hair, gulping a breath when Homme’s back turned the corner and was out of sight. 

I waited a moment to collect myself, until I knew I could keep the contents of my stomach where they were. When the clawing dizziness subsided, I took a shaky step, and then another. I continued out to the grotto, still intent on circling the patio and coming in through the kitchen, shivering at where I could still feel Homme’s grip on my body. A voice on the private terrace one floor above me made me pause and I pressed myself into the wall and held my breath, closing my eyes and concentrating on the half of the conversation I could hear. It was Homme, and judging from the silence between his mutterings, he was on the phone with someone.

“...taking over here. Fairly easy considering the supposedly tight security.” He laughed. Then, “The only thing tight around here is that piece of hard candy Miles calls his boyfriend.”

I tasted bile in my mouth and resisted the urge to call Homme out at that moment.

Homme’s voice dropped in volume and I had to strain to hear his next words. “Not a clue. Will you relax? I told you, I’ve got it handled. I have since Chicago. If Helders hadn’t gotten in the way, Kane would be gone, and we’d be moving forward. As it stands, I’m going to have to bring him down another way. Yeah, the boyfriend. No, Clark is blissfully unaware. Fucking fossil has no idea his empire is about to crumble, and I’m gonna be the cock of the walk.”

I blinked in the early evening air, shallow breath, threading heartbeat. My ears rang and my cheeks burned, partly in shame, mostly in rage.

It had been Homme who ordered the hit.

It was Homme trying to destroy everything Miles had built.

And I was his next target.

The sudden slam of a sliding glass door snapped me from my anger and I cocked my head, hearing nothing but silence. I bolted from my spot and tore back down to the grotto, skirting round to the pumphouse. My hands shook as I tore the door open, and I slipped in, locking myself into humid darkness.

I immediately snatched my phone from my pocket, and opened the photo I’d taken of the contact page. I didn’t think I’d be using it so soon; going to Clarke was supposed to be a last resort. Homme had pushed my hand; I wasn’t safe in the house, none of us were. Memorizing the first number, I dialled it and waited as it rang.

Someone picked up on the third ring.

“Cooper Clarke Residence.”

“I...eh...I’d like...to speak with Mr. Clarke, please.”

There was a pause, and something like a dismissive snort. “Mr Clarke doesn’t take phone calls on the main line, Mr…?”

“Turner,” I mumbled. “I’m-”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Turner, but if you’d like to make a formal inquiry, might I suggest you reach Mr. Clarke’s personal assistant, Mr. Cave?”

“Oh. I...er...I’m afraid I don’t have that num-”

“Have a good day.” 

The line went dead, and I sighed, sagging back against the wall. Then, I dialled the second number.

“‘Ello?”

The voice that answered was creaky and weathered, and I licked my lips. “Ah...Is this...Is this Mr. Clarke?”

“Who’s this?”

“Mr. Clarke…I...er…”

“Speak up, lad, I know me name. Who is this? How did you get this number?”

“From Miles Kane,” I blurted out. 

There was a silent pause, and then Clarke came back.

“Who _is_ this?”

“My name is Alexander Turner. I’m Miles’ - er, Mr. Kane’s...um…” I broke off, feeling myself begin to crack. I hated when my voice wavered; cold veneer aside, my voice always gave me away. The mention of Miles’ name - the mere thought of it, even - made me terribly emotional. I wanted nothing more than to crumble into him, and let him make everything go away.

“Aye, reyt that, lad, I know who you are well enough. What can I do for you, Mr. Turner? You’ve called me on my private line; it must be important?”

“It is, Sir.” _It **is** important_ , I reminded myself, _for your safety, and Miles, and Matt’s_. “I...I can’t talk here. Can we meet?”

“What’s this regarding?”

I swallowed thickly, Homme’s stolen words from only moments before echoing in my ear. “Chicago. The hit on Miles. I - Mr. Clarke, I’ve no doubt in my mind that Homme is responsible.”

There was another pause, and for a moment I thought that Clarke had hung up on me, too, that any hope was abandoned, and I was on my own to deal with the terror in my house.

“Are you able to leave the house?”

“As of now, yes.”

“Mr Turner,” Clarke began with a suddenly tired sounding voice. “I think it’s time you and I finally meet.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the most difficult chapters to write for me, as any chapter 5 is for me - perhaps I'm not alone in saying that Chapter 5 always gives writers the most trouble because it's at that point that you need to up the ante: your readers are invested, and you want them to stick around. Time to change the game.
> 
> This chapter deals with rape, sexual assault, physical assault, and a multitude of other sins. When I tagged this as "Homme isn't a nice guy" I wasn't kidding, people. Heed that warning. Trigger warnings apply. Flashbacks are in italics, and towards the end of this very long chapter. I wanted to chop it in half, but it works better this way.
> 
> This is the namesake of this fic, and as difficult as it was, along with current events such as the Paris shooting at the EODM concert and more recently the news of TLSP2, I managed to get through this, but was very much supported by the lovely Stanzie / sleeptight-grimrite here and on tumblr. You are the Alexa to my Alex, and I can't with u because u a hoe.
> 
> Apologies for the lateness. Let's hope I'm not as tardy with a Kodachrome instalment.

Ten am was early for whiskey, but Joshua Homme had never been one to adhere to convention. Sitting in the monitor room of Miles Kane’s home, scanning the video feeds from the night before, he sipped from the glass clutched in his hand, waiting for any image of Alex Turner to float across the screen. The wiry lad was clever and quite adept at avoid Homme, even more so in the last few days. It put Homme on edge; lately, most things did, hence the morning whiskeys, the cigarettes, the Xanax, and the burning desire to keep everyone under his thumb. 

He liked control. Craved it. Needed it to survive; being the head of Clarke’s western empire fed his ego nicely, but then suddenly Kane started making leaps and bounds up the ladder, out of nowhere it seemed. He’d been nothing more than a drop bar at one point, a place in the city where the money ran through, undetected, but that hadn’t been enough for Kane. He’d seen an opportunity and grabbed it, the greedy little Scouser - being from England meant he’d had an in with Clarke that Homme could never hope to duplicate. And, despite his annoyance with the skinny bastard, Homme couldn’t help but think that Miles was a creature just like him: driven by the need to control, and monopolize, to use and manipulate, lusting for power. 

Kane had proven that with that ballsy move of showing up in Chicago. Of course, had their situations been reversed, Homme would have done exactly that: gone ahead of everyone else to get the jump on the dealings in Chicago, prove to Clarke that he was just as capable of running things as anyone else. Knowing that, Homme had planned for it, hired his man, and set into play what was supposed to be a single shot to the head, and Kane dead in the city morgue.

His major mistake had come in underestimating Matthew Helders. Miles’ right hand was more than just a silent, brooding hunk of muscle. He was quick, which was surprising enough, but it also seemed like he knew something was going to happen. At least, that was how the man Homme had hired had described the ex-boxer as acting. 

And then there was Alex. It always seemed to come back to the dark-eyed young man, the one who spoke in soft tones, and seemed almost ethereal - _almost_. When Kane had set the lad up in his house almost two years ago, Homme was certain that it would be short lived, that Miles would lose interest, or perhaps Alex would be frightened off. He was curious creature, to be certain, an ex-art student with a lousy weed habit, who smoked too many cigarettes. Miles had taken it and run, and Homme had watched, fascinated, and infatuated, as Alex changed from dopey and doe-eyed to something much more snarky with a cocaine bark and a stinging bite. Sometimes Homme wondered how Kane put up with the brat, but then he’d show up in soft gray suits at parties and meetings, and lounge about in sloppy t shirts and ratty jeans when he was around the house and...well, Homme figured the lad fucked like a minx. It was the only explanation he could come up with initially.

The night before, however, the Northerner had given Homme a thrill, to say the least, by not only standing up to him, but threatening him as well. Of course, Kane laid up recuperating probably had a bit to do with that - the bitch’s stud was injured, incapacitated, and that seemed to turn Alex a little bit vicious. It warmed Homme’s blood considerably. It was no fun if they didn’t fight back.

With a frustrated growl, Homme swept his eyes over the bank of monitors set up on the other side of the room, ones that showed live feed. He’d had the camera in the upper hallway turned to aim at the door of Alex’s bedroom, but so far, the lad hadn’t appeared yet. Having reviewed footage from the previous evening, he clearly saw Alex enter his bedroom and close the door. Homme scanned the kitchen, the lounge, the library, Kane’s recovery room, the pool - nothing. Could he be in the lower levels again? Homme heaved a sigh and picked up the phone, calling down to Shuman, who was stationed at the main entrance.

“He hasn’t come through here,” Shuman replied gruffly. “So, unless he went out the back and over the fence, he’s around here somewhere. You said he has’t come out of his room? Maybe he’s hiding.” Shuman chuckled.

“Hmf,” was the only reply Homme gave. 

He hung up and sat back, scanning the monitors once more. Something was off. Leaning forward, he peered at the picture of the hallway outside of Alex’s door. The small table that held fresh flowers daily wasn’t there. The carpet was the same, and yet...Homme stood abruptly and tore out of the security room, and made his way upstairs. When he came to the floor where the bedrooms were, he paused at one end, and scanned the area. There was the table, standing right there. It hadn’t disappeared - he craned his head back and glanced at the cameras, turned to a spot further down the hallway - identical, save for the missing table.

That little shit.

Fuming, Homme stormed up the hall and abruptly halted outside of Alex’s room, listening. He was met with silence, and so he dropped his hand to the handle, and turned it, expecting to be locked. It wasn’t; it turned easily and unlatched, and Homme swung the door open, singing Alex’s name as he did so.

An initial sweep told Homme that the bed either hadn’t been slept in, or it had already been made. He was guessing the latter, and he turned his attention back out into the hallway before moving into Alex’s room. His shoes dug into the plush, cream colored carpet, and he crossed to the windows, taking in the view below. This wing of the house was constructed to jut out over the lower level - it hung seemingly suspended in the air, with an almost three-sixty view of the ocean and the beach. While the windows themselves opened, Alex couldn’t have had made an escape through one of them. There was no where to go but crashing down to the slate and granite of the patio on one side, and the stairs leading down to the beach on the other.

He cursed loudly and tore out of the bedroom and turned right, and then moved to upper landing of the stairs. He circled around the mezzanine to the opposite wing of the house where the bedroom shared by both Kane and Alex was housed. There was no camera up here, and Homme’s rage began to prickle his skin as he realized his mistake. Once more, he’d underestimated Alex. He thought for certain their encounter last night in the lower levels by Miles’ office would be enough of a warning that Alex was getting far too confident. Clearly, Homme was the one guilty of that offence. Grasping the handle of one door, he twisted it and barrelled through the door, eyes falling to the bed.

The California king had _definitely_ been slept in. With long strides, Homme approached the bed and dropped his fingers down to the fine, 700 thread-count duvet, tracing the silky, chocolate fabric, before snatching the closest pillow and pressing his nose into it. Alex had lain his head here, he knew from the faint trace of bergamot and cloves that punctuated the lad’s cologne. Homme’s frigid blue gaze moved to the windows. They opened, too; this wing of the house was a mirror image of the side where Alex’s bedroom was, but...Homme crossed to the windows and glance down. Of _course_ there would be an alternate route down from here. Homme had seen it several times from the beach; a drop ladder, similar to those in high-rises in New York, was extended down to the small space between the hedge and the house. A stone-paved path led to a narrow gate, which gave access to the street, but was invisible from the lower levels.

“Where did you sneak off to, Alex?” Homme murmured as he clutched the pillow in his fists. He strangled the down filling, but it only served to make him seethe. “What don’t you want me to know?”

+

“How do you take your tea, lad?”

Alex nervously fidgeted with collar of his shirt, and sat perched ramrod straight on the edge of a sprawling, leather couch. He blinked at the aged man across from him as if he’d spoken a dead language, and he merely shrugged.

“Well, you take it _some_ way, don’t you? You _are_ English?”

“Yes, sir,” Alex warbled, his cheeks heating. “Plain, thank you, and piping.”

John Cooper Clarke smiled, the curved slash of his mouth cracking the weathered features. “There, see? Weren’t so hard.” He lifted the teapot, an ornate thing that Alex would wager was almost as old as Clarke, and the fragrant, steaming liquid splashed into an equally delicated cup.

It was a matched set.

Alex found himself smiling dumbly.

“What is it, lad, hmm?” Clarke asked conversationally as he next poured his own cup and added sugar and milk.

“Put a few teddy bears in here an’ we’re ‘avin’ a proper tea par’y, aren’t we?” Alex joked.

Clarke paused where he was setting the teapot back on its tray, and he lifted a dark eyebrow from behind blue-tinted horn-rimmed glasses. “I assure you, Mr. Turner, that this is much more serious.”

Alex nodded and hastily reached for his tea, taking a large sip before he could say something stupid in return. For a few moments, they merely sipped in silence.

“Now, then, Mr. Turner. Tell me. What has prompted you to visit me at my home? I’m certain Miles didn’t leave my contact information just...lying around. At least, I would hope he wouldn’t. So you must have gone to some trouble-”

“Why did you put Homme in charge?” Alex wasn’t in the mood for small talk, no matter how grateful he was for the meeting he was currently sat in.

Clarke blinked and set his cup down. “I beg your pardon?”

“You made Homme the head of security. Why?”

“He’s more than capable,” Clarke reasoned.

“He’s also a complete bastard. And a murderer. Or did you not get that part of my plea last night?” 

Clarke studied Alex for a moment, taken aback with the boy’s attitude. He’d never met Alex before, but reports had told him the lad was soft-spoken for the most part, more or less a pretty face. The boldness of the phone call the previous night, and the brash questions just now, told Clarke that perhaps there was more to the boy than he was letting on.

“While I am taking your claims of Homme’s involvement with the attempt on Mr Kane’s life very seriously, Mr. Turner, you must realize that is all they are: claims. There’s no proof that Homme was behind this, other than the phone call which you, and only you, overheard. I’m not keen on Homme’s personality either, but there is a protocol when accusations like this are made.”

“So, what’s the protocol?”

“My concern is for Mr. Kane’s safety during his recovery, and that extends to you, Mr. Turner. Do you feel you’re in danger?”

“I haven’t felt safe since Miles was shot.”

“I can understand that.” Setting his cup down, the older man sat back, and suddenly looked very much his age, and then some. His voice was dry, and it scoured the air as he spoke. “I...I was once in a position like you, Alex. I mean, look at me: not exactly intimidating, am I?” He chuckled softly. “But I worked at it. Fought for it. Had to deal with the Hommes of the world at that time, so to speak, aye? Reckon it built me character, thickened me skin. I don’t trust people easily. I’m sure you can respect that.”

“Sir,” Alex agreed softly.

Clarke nodded shortly and glanced out the window behind Alexy, eyes growing distant, his mouth turning grim. Suddenly, those sharp, dark eyes were on Alex once more, and he’d a jagged finger pointed at Alex as he leaned forward and asked in a deathly low tone, “So what’s it going to be, then, Alexander? Do you want to be bitch of the brood, or suffer the fate of the runt of the litter?”

Alex blinked. “I’m...not sure I follow?”

Clarke sneered and snapped his fingers in dismissal, and then picked up his tea. After taking a sip, he spoke again. “I don’t like Homme. I never have. He’s a bully, and a brute, but he gets things done, and has connections in this city - connections I still need. You see my dilemma. I can’t just...dismiss him without due course. It will raise suspicions. If he is as dangerous as you claim him to be - and I don’t disagree with you, but I need _proof_ \- pushing him out now might make him snap. He’s reckless. He can’t know that you know.”

“I can’t have him in the house.”

“What if I gave him an assignment elsewhere for the time being? Perhaps...somewhere in another state? Brought in a few good men to replace him?”

Alex shook his head regretfully. “They’d have to pass Miles’ inspection-”

“What if they had to pass _yours_ , Alexander?”

Alex scoffed, and his mouth quirked at what he assumed was a joke. When Clarke remained stone faced and unblinking, merely staring at Alex awaiting a reasonable reply, Alex shook his head once more. “No - _no_. I mean...my choice doesn’t mean owt.”

“But it _can_. It _should_. If you’re Miles’ partner, don’t you think you should have some say in who is watching your collective asses?”

Alex sputtered, searching for an excuse, a joke, an anecdote...anything to make Clarke see that he was talking gibberish. When he came up with nothing he merely held his hands out silently asking, _what would you have me do?_

“Hand pick a new team. I can guide you. You can even tell Miles I helped you out. But be firm with your decision, and your conviction, Alex. You want new protection? You have to seek it out. Set yourself up so that you can’t be torn out like a thorn in Homme’s side.”

“Homme won’t give up control that easily.”

“Leave him to me. I still have enough sway over him that he won’t disobey a direct order - not at this point. Show him that while Miles is down and out _you’re_ the one in charge.”

+

Their meeting concluded soon afterwards, of which Alex was somewhat grateful for, but also a mite disappointed. He liked Clarke, and he dared to think Clarke might have taken a shine to him as well. As it was, Alex was eager to get out of the nouveau-gothic style mansion in North Hollywood, wrap his head around Clarke’s proposition, and then make his way back to Miles. 

As he descended the spiralling staircase, escorted by Clarke himself, they spoke of simple things - art, poetry, and music, in all of which it seemed they had similar tastes. They passed several of Clarke’s men in the hallways, along with house staff, until they were crossing the foyer, pausing outside of the front parlour where more of Clarke’s appointments sat, waiting for the turn with an audience.

When they’d reached the door, the guard there moved to open it as Clarke spoke fondly, “I do hope you come to see me soon, Alexander. I’ve enjoyed meeting you, and your company.”

Alex tugged his RayBans from his suit pocket and slipped them on as the door opened wide, mid-morning California sun spilling into the entry. “I’d like that very much,” he hummed softly, finding himself smiling genuinely for the first time in twenty-four hours.

“Excuse me,” a voice cut in, a shadow half-filling the doorway.

“Certainly,” Alex nodded. “Sorry.” He stepped aside and let the new arrival step in.

“Ah, Mr. Hughes. I wasn’t aware we were meeting today,” Clarke sighed. “Alex, this is Jesse Hughes, a man of...several talents. Mr. Hughes, this is Alexander Turner, companion to-”

“Miles Kane,” Hughes finished, his mouth turning into a million-watt smile, golden blonde mustache curling up as it did so.

Alex levied an uneasy frown. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“No,” Hughes said with a shake of his head. His smile grew a fraction. “But I’ve heard all about you.”

“Can’t say the same for you,” Alex mumbled, turning his body to give Hughes a wide berth to move into the mansion.

“Well, maybe that will change, eh? See you around, kid.”

Alex bristled at the casual title thrown his way, but he said nothing, merely glanced at the back of Hughes’ leather jacket and concluded that the man was very much like Homme’ - an infectious case of self-entitlement seemed to surround him. Turning back to Clarke, Alex put his hand out.

“Thank you again, Sir.”

Clarke took Alex’s hand and shook it briefly. “I enjoyed it. Quite refreshing. We’ll be in touch.”

Alex smiled softly and nodded, and then slipped out into the open air, and headed down to where he’d parked his car.

+

Jesse Hughes watched the Turner through the parlor window. Strange. Why would Kane’s little side dish be making a call to Clarke? And more importantly...digging into his jacket pocket, Hughes pulled his phone out and brought out Homme’s contact information.

Homme picked up on the first ring.

“Hey. I’m at Clarke’s. You’re never gonna believe who I just ran into coming out of a meeting with the old man.”

Homme’s voice was tight as he growled down the line, “ _Who_?”

“Alex Turner.”

Hughe’s answer was met with silence.

“You still there, Homme?”

There was another pause, and then a string of curses. “Do you know what the meeting was about?”

“Nah, just got here,” Hughes said breezily. “He was just leaving as I was coming in. But Clarke escorted him to the door.”

“Is he still there?” Homme asked lowly.

“Ah, no, he’s just getting into his car now.”

“Then what the _fuck_ are you doing standing there watching him go?” Homme snapped, his voice raising with agitation. “Get on his ass, Hughes - _now_!”

Hughes jumped into action and tore out the front door, digging his keys from his pocket as Homme continued his tirade.

“I wanna know every fucking place that little shit stops at. Where he goes for lunch. When he takes a piss. When he forgets to fucking signal. Get on him, and _stay_ on him. He’s up to something, and I need to know what.”

“Sure. Yeah, all right Homme, I’ll tail him. Keep you posted.”

“Right up until he gets his ass back here. Every move. Every stop. Every time he blinks.”

“All _right_ ,” Hughes growled, sliding into the driver’s side of his Escalade. “This is costing you, you know that, right?”

“Do you think I fucking _care_?”

“What’s the big deal with this Turner kid? Why do you care he’s meeting with Clarke?”

“Something’s not connecting. He’s got no reason to go to Clarke unless he suspects something. If Alex Turner knows anything about Chicago, and he’s spoke to Clarke, I need to know. I’m not gonna lose my chance to take over because that pretty little cunt can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“Thought you liked it open?” Hughes muttered, pulling into traffic behind the little black Mercedes AMG that Turner was driving.

“Not your concern,” sniffed Homme. “You’re on the job now, Hughes. I expect nothing but your excellence in the matter.”

“You’re the boss,” Hughes shrugged, ending the call and glancing back to Turner’s car. The last thing he expected to be doing today was following a playboy’s plaything around Hollywood, but it could be worse. Hughes lit a cigarette and lazily drifted into traffic, being sure to stay a few car lengths behind Turner. Tailing someone was anything new for Hughes. As Clarke hand mentioned, he was a man of several talents, each one with their own price tag. He could always use more cash. Grinning, Hughes turned up the stereo and settled into his seat.

+

_Taco del Mar_.

_Vintage Vinyl_.

_O'Halloran's_.

_Flotsam_.

Homme scrolled back through the texts he’d received from Hughes over the last four hours, informing him of Alex’s whereabouts. There was no pattern he could discern, and he didn’t know if that was good or bad - it seemed like Alex wasn’t even remotely interested in coming back to Venice, content to keep to the Hollywood Hills instead. He’d moved up and down the strip, skittered about, but nothing indicated a distinct need to return home.

This was either very good - perhaps Alex and Clarke had talked of nothing at all, nothing of importance at least, and so Alex had gone about his daily meandering, spending Miles’ money, driving his fast little bullet, not a care in the world - or, this was very bad. For all Homme knew, Alex could be avoiding the mansion because of Homme himself, and what Alex may have put together in the last twenty four hours.

Homme’s gut told him it was the latter. Alex hadn’t strayed too far or too long from the house in the weeks since Miles had been shot, and for him to suddenly do so, after a meeting with Clarke, made Homme more than wary. Each time a text message from Hughes came, pinpointing yet another one of Alex’s stops (including the lad’s burrito order, and the two stops to take a piss, that smartass Hughes), Homme poured another drink, chugging it back, thinking on a hundred scenarios, and the thousands of ways to confront Alex.

None of them ended well - not for Alex, at least. Anyway Homme looked at, he always came out on top.

He needed to put the boy in his place. Needed to reestablish his role in the house, in Alex’s life, and the more Homme thought on it, the more he drank, until both the alcohol and the rage and the desire to do violence intoxicated him. It was near sunset when A final message from Hughes came through, a simple, _**He’s just pulled into the driveway**_ , to which Homme replied, _**You can clock out**_. Grabbing his near-empty glass, Homme moved from where he was pacing - obsessing - in the sunroom that overlooked the kitchen, and stalked back to the security office to watch Alex on the monitors.

The lad moved rather languidly. Lighter somehow. His chin lifted, hair tucked behind his ears rather than falling in his face. Though the picture was a touch grainy, Homme swore he saw a light in Alex’s eyes that hadn’t been there last night - something that hinted at a revelation. He tossed the watered down whiskey into his mouth, grimacing at the weak taste, and located the bottle he’d abandoned earlier that morning. It was almost gone. No matter. Enough for the coming attractions. Pouring what was left into his glass, Homme settled once more into the chair and watched as Alex slinked into the mansion, and made his way directly to Miles’ recovery room.

Their interaction was short - a quick check in, only for Alex to discover that Miles was sleeping once more, chest steadily rising and falling. The young man sat for a moment, tracing Miles’ hand with his fingers, mouth moving, speaking - exposing? Homme’s grip tightened on the glass. Then Alex rose and leaned over Miles, no doubt brushing his lips over the Scouser’s cheek before leaving the room. Homme’s gaze cut to the hallway, and followed Alex up the steps. This time, Alex _did_ go to his own room, the one he occupied on his own, and it was with a flare of smug satisfaction that Homme watched as Alex’s dark eyes flickered up to the camera, seeing that it was very much turned once more on his door. Alex frowned, but didn’t let it deter him. He opened the door, and closed it once he was inside the room.

Homme waited...one minute turned to two turned to five, and the alcohol in his glass was dwindling. Then, the door to Alex’s bedroom opened once more, and out ventured his subject, clad in a loose-fitting button down, with a towel bundled under his arm. Long, lean legs - bare legs - greeted Homme as he watched Alex saunter back down the hallway. The shorts the young man wore were barely there at all, it seemed. He was headed for the pool, and Homme was quick to stand, intent on seeking the boy out where he was certain he wouldn’t be able to keep his head above water.

The phone in Homme’s pocket began ringing, and he growled, fishing it out and training one eye on the screen as he glanced at the caller ID: it was Clarke. He sucked in a quick breath, and watched Alex move from the upper levels of the house down into the front entry, past the living room, around the kitchen, and out onto the patio. Homme’s phone still rang, Clarke’s name emblazoned on the screen. His thumb hovered over the ‘accept call’ button, but the ringing stopped, and Homme’s gaze lifted to the screen that showed the view of the patio. Again, Homme’s phone began ringing, Clarke’s name and number popping up once more, but as Homme watched Alex shed the button down and pitch the towel to a nearby lounge chair, the decision was made for Homme. His thumb slid to the ‘ignore’ button, and set the phone on silent, slipping the device back into his suit jacket as he watched, breath caught and held, as Alex smoothly dove into the pool, and disappeared beneath the surface.

+

Alex is in the middle of turning a lap when he sees it.

At first, he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him, flashing with a scene from a movie: a dark figure looming on the other side of the water, crouched low at the pool’s edge, like something from a homicide mystery. So, he does nothing, merely completes his turn, and strokes his way to the far end of the pool, and turns to come back.

When he breaches the surface to take a breath on the fourth stroke, however, that figure is still there - blurry, but nonetheless very real, and very still, watching him.

He dives down and crawls through the water the rest of the way, until he’s reached the edge and has no choice but to rocket upwards, sputtering and spraying water as he breaks the surface once more.

“Alex!” Homme’s voice is too cheerful, too precise, and it sets Alex on edge.

He wipes his face, pulling long strands of wet hair from his eyes, and finally blinks his vision to focus.

“Homme,” he says flatly.

Homme’s grin is mechanical - there’s nothing calculating, or foretelling, and Alex can’t decide whether that puts him at ease. He supposes not; he doesn’t like the fact he can’t tell what’s going on in Homme’s brain. The eyes are flat and cold, and Alex feels himself shiver despite the hot summer evening, and the thermal water.

“You about done? If you’ve got a few more laps to do, don’t let me interrupt. Like I said, I do enjoy watching you-”

“I’m done,” Alex barks, cutting Homme off before he can spout some lewd comment.

Homme’s fake smile flattens, and he stands smoothly.

“Let’s have a drink.”

Alex sputters once more. “Excuse me?”

But Homme is already crossing to where Alex has lain his shirt and towel, and he bristles as he watches the hulking ginger fumble with his belongings. Alex is out of the pool and crossing the deck, water sluicing off of him in sheets as he hurries to snatch his shirt from Homme’s clutch.

Homme lets the shirt go and grins, clasping his hands behind his back. “I think it’s time you and I talked, Alex. Man to man...or...man to boy-toy, at least.” He smirks.

“Insulting me isn’t going to get you anywhere, you realize,” Alex sniffs, slipping his arms into his shirt and leaving it to hang open off of his shoulders. Slinging the towel behind his neck, he uses one end to rub at his dripping hair. “If all you want to do is make snide remarks, then I’d just rather you leave me to my devices.”

The older man pouts, and bats his eyelashes, and Alex scoffs in his throat and rolls his eyes. But when he goes to move past Homme, he’s stopped by a wide hand circling his elbow and halting his movement.

“I said I wanted to have a drink,” Homme growls, shoving Alex in the direction of the doors that will lead them back down the lower hallways. “Doesn’t Miles keep the good stuff in his study? C’mon, be a good little housewife and pour me a drink, yeah?”

Alex looks from the hand gripping his arm to Homme’s face. Something flickers there, a flash of malice, and Alex wonders if it might be in his best interest to play along for the time being. He calls Homme’s bluff.

“Fine,” he snaps, yanking free of Homme’s grip. “One drink. Let’s go.”

+

“Whiskey do ya?” Alex grumbled, flicking on the lights to Miles’ private office and moving to the bar. The quicker he got Homme his drink, the quicker they could get this little conversation started and ended, and the quicker Alex could get back upstairs and to Miles’ side.

“What’s the rush?” Homme drawled, sauntering in behind Alex and shutting the door.

When the lock clicked shut, Alex snapped his gaze at Homme, and frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t want any interruptions,” Homme shrugged, moving into the room and perusing the decor. “Miles certain does enjoy the finer things in life, doesn’t he?” He asked casually, inspecting the titles of the books that lined the shelves, and the info plates secured beneath the various paintings hung on the wall. “Is this an actual Picasso?”

Alex grunted affirmatively, and poured two glasses of whiskey.

Homme drew his finger along the ornate frame of the painting in question, and frowned at the dust he came up with. “Looks like Stephanie and her crew are slacking,” Homme grinned, showing Alex his smudged fingertip.

“The housekeepers don’t have keys. They don’t clean down here unless supervised,” Alex offered. “No camer..as..” he finished brokenly, suddenly glancing back over his shoulder at Homme.

The giant had taken a seat in Miles’ chair behind Miles’ desk and kicked his feet up onto the blotter, crossing his ankles and leaning back. “How convenient,” Homme purred.

Alex bristled, and crossed to the desk, thrusting a hand clutching cut crystal and whiskey out to Homme. “Here,” he muttered. He raised his own to drink it in one gulp, but Homme stopped him.

“What should we drink to?” Homme asked lightly, inspecting the contents of his glass with a little smile.

“To MIles’ recovery,” Alex sassed back, raising an eyebrow.

“Hmm,” Homme nodded. “To...new endeavors,” he added, raising his glass before taking a sip.

Alex gulped his down in one go, grimacing at the end, much to Homme’s amusement.

“Trying to get drunk, laa?”

The sound of Miles’ slang on Homme’s lips made Alex’s skin twitch and he glanced at the door. “Are we done?”

Taking another sip of whiskey, Homme shook his head and set the glass down, and then ran his fingers along the drawers of Miles’ desk. When he came to the one that Alex had pried open the night before, he frowned, and then clicked his tongue in disappointment. “What’s this?” He gave a mock gasp of surprise and slid the drawer open, before looking up at Alex. “Why...someone has broken the lock to Miles’ private desk!” He forged concern and batted his lashes at Alex in jest. “Whatever could they be looking for?” Opening the drawer he dug inside and pulled out Miles’ address book. Digging a bit further, he smirked when his fingers curled around a small baggie, and he tossed that onto the blotter. “Names and numbers...and a good time? How about a bump, hey, Alex?” He was already opening the bag and licking the tip of his pinky finger.

“M’not really in the mood,” Alex answered flatly, already backing towards the door.

“Is that right?” Homme muttered, dipping his finger into the bag and then snorting the result up one nostril. He sniffed and coughed, and then shook his head as the coke worked its magic. His other hand moved under the desk and came up with a small Beretta 9mm, and he laid that on the desk beside the cocaine and the address book.

Alex huffed, trying to sound unaffected, and shot Homme a look of disbelief. “This again? You still thinkin’ you’re gonna shoot me in me own home?”

“I don’t have to shoot you to get you to do what I want you to,” Homme declared, rising from the seat and snatching up the cocaine and the gun. “But if you could just...step away from the door, things won’t have to get out of hand.”

“Look, you had your drink. We’re done-”

Homme crossed the space between them in two long strides, and crowded Alex against the wall next to the door, putting his face in that of the younger man’s. “No,” he spat, eyes blazing. “We’re not even _close_ to being done.” He inhaled sharply through his nose, sniffing back the residue of cocaine.

“What do you want,” Alex asked lowly, afraid to look away from Homme’s gaze, and petrified to hold it any longer.

“I want you to tell me why you met Clarke today.”

“I didn't-”

“ _Don’t_ lie to me, Alexander. I know you went to see him. Does Miles know? I bet he doesn't. I bet he has no idea you've been sneaking around last night and this morning, having meetings behind his back.”

Alex stared sullenly at Homme, but remained silent.

Homme continued. “Imagine the betrayal Miles would feel - the absolute _rage_ he'd succumb to if he found out you were less than honest with him. I mean, he shot a man’s finger off for fifty thousand dollars. What do you think he’ll do to you?”

Alex snorted, and channeled the last of his waning bravado. “It were nowt.”

Homme scoffed. “ ‘It were nowt,’” he parroted in a patronizing tone. “ _Nobody_ sees the old man, especially cute little pieces of ass that fuck better than they think - at least that’s what MIles says. Hey? Did you know that? He doesn’t care about your brains, Alex, but he does laud you as the fuck of the century. Are the rumors true? Do you swallow-”

Alex lashed out with his fist, clipping Homme in the jaw. It wasn’t hard enough to do serious damage, but it startled Homme, and made him take a step back. He gazed at Alex with wide eyes, and then worked his jaw back and forth. “Not bad for a wiry little faggot. Here, hold this.” He dumped the bag of cocaine into Alex’s hand and returned the blow, faster, harder, and with more accuracy.

Pain exploded in Alex’s face, and his cheekbone felt as if it was on fire. He was certain it was cracked, and he stumbled backwards and raised his fingers to it, coming back with blood staining the tips.

Homme pouted and glanced down at his hand, twisting the heavy, diamond-encrusted ring circling his middle finger. “Sorry about that,” he chuckled. Tucking the gun into his waistband, he took the coke from Alex’s clutched hand and cocked his thumb back, creating a hollow into which he dumped a pile of the white powder. Pitching the bag aside, he then pulled the gun once more and then pressed the barrel to Alex’s temple, and pushed the hollow of his thumb beneath Alex’s nose. “Snort,” Homme ordered.

“Fuck that,” Alex snarled, his eyes wet from the blow to his face.

Homme snarled and cocked the gun. “Do it.”

“You gonna blow me brains out if I don’t snort a little coke, Homme? Hmm? That make you the big bad in Clarke’s lit’l club, eh? Makin’ Kane’s piece of ass snort a little bit o’coke at gunpoint-”

Homme growled and drew the coke laden hand back to his own face. He snorted the stuff and then struck out open palmed, and slapped Alex hard across the mouth. This time, Alex yelped, indignant, and his mouth hung open.

“You talk too fucking much, you little shit. I think it’s time you learned your place.”

Alex prodded the inside of his cheek with his tongue, detecting spit and blood from a cut there. He worked the taste around his mouth and grimaced up at Homme, despite the terror that was planting itself in his guts.

With a sharp draw of breath, Homme grinned sickly, and cupped the sides of Alex’s face, squeezing the lad’s cheeks between his hands before sliding his fingers back to knot in the sides of Alex’s hair.

Alex flared to life in Homme’s grip. He clawed at the front of Homme’s shirt, trying to dig his fingers into flesh, to make any sort of impact, but his struggle only seemed to fuel Homme. With one quick shake, Alex was dragged forward and then slammed back into the wall, and his head cracked against the plaster. All at once his hearing dulled and his vision dimmed. His fingers still clawed, but they were numb and useless, and he felt himself being hauled up from where he was beginning to slump down to the floor.

Then suddenly, very terribly, he was face to face with the top of Miles’ desk, nose pressed into the blotter like he was some sort of misbehaved housepet who had pissed all over Homme’s plans. And really, he was, and the thought made him laugh, and cringe, and he moved to put his hands flat on the desk, to push up, but a weight settled against him. He froze, his body, his breath, his thoughts all locked up as it became suddenly very clear what Homme’s intentions were.

Alex thrashed again, and cried out, screamed as Homme’s hands scraped over damp, cold skin as his shirt was pushed aside and his swim trunks yanked down, tearing at the skin where they stuck wetly. An arm circled his throat and bent at the elbow, clamping his larynx and squeezing so that he wheezed and flailed helplessly as his feet were kicked apart. The sound of a buckle clicking open was deafening, and Alex’s fingers scrabbled over the desk, searching for anything he could use to fend off Homme. The zipper tearing open made Alex’s blood turn to ice and he gasped, and began to plead, to beg Homme.

“Please,” he rasped, still twisting his hips despite the hold Homme had on him. “Homme, don’t-”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Alex. Understood?” He shifted and when he’d moved his jeans and boxers aside, he rutted against Alex’s exposed arse, and growled. He leaned forward, pressing his pelvis to Alex’s backside, ignoring the gagging and the whimpering. With his lips next to Alex’s ear, he breathed his next words very carefully: “Kane may own you, Alexander, but I own him. By default, that makes you mine. Every inch of you.”

+

_I’m swimming again. I know it’s a dream - I don’t know what gives it away, maybe the fact I don’t feel the tiny bubbles on the hairs of my arm being dissipated by my movement. Perhaps it’s because my arms feel like lead. My feet lag. Like I’m being dragged down to summat. And all at once I feel dread. Above me, the water is murky, and dark, save for one sphere of light piercing the surface, and a figure looming there on the apron of the pool._

_Me lungs are screaming for air, and I know I have to surface to quench that need, but something still drags at me, cold shackles of fear clawing at my ankles and my shoulders. I do not feel weightless in this realm of water as I usually do. I do not feel at ease. My thoughts have not streamed from me with air and effort. I claw. I rage. The water swirls and churns, and like anyone has ever dreamed, I scream, but my voice is warbled, is silenced, is choked off. I do not want to go to the surface._

_I don’t want to breathe._

_Something tells me I’d be better off dead, a stone at the bottom of the pool_.

_"Think Miles will want you after he finds out I've had you, baby? Hmm? His precious little plaything broken and in such an awful mess. Better not tell him."_

I am shaken awake, and it takes a moment to realize that it is not water that is dragging my limbs down, but twisted sheets, and the heavy, hot grip of Matthew’s hands on my wrists.

“Alex!” he hisses sharply.

My eyes snap open and I see him, and yet I don’t. Instead I struggle, and I growl, kicking, pleading with him - 

“Let me _go_!” I bring my legs up to kick once more but the dopamine of sleep has worn off, and sound, and sight, and most of all, pain, comes rushing back to the surface, and every muscle is one fire, feeling like it is peeled back from the bone, left flayed, raw and bleeding, all the nerves exposed to air. For a little while I do nothing but moan, and howl, clutching the sheets and wondering why the hell it hurts - why I hurt so damn much.

“Alex,” I hear a voice murmur, and hands come down on my wrists once more.

_“This would be so much easier if you’d just be still, hmm?” More hands. Bigger hands, inked across the knuckles, hold me down, squeeze until something pops and grinds and-_

I gasp and heave my entire body, trying desperately to be rid of Matthew’s hold. I know he’s not trying to hurt me, but my wrists are bruised and from the feel of burning, wretched pain along my chest, I’d wager my ribs are, too.

“Alex, calm down,” Matthew tries again. “You were dreaming. Again. All night.”

The hands leave off, and I immediately retreat, tucking into myself to hide, to keep all the things that were done to me a secret. I wretch at the hollowness in my gut, the ache further down between my thighs...and my…

My cheeks flame hotly and tears flood but do not soothe. I’m aware of the bed shaking, and come to the conclusion that it’s me shivering that’s making the thing move so violently. Another roiling bubble of pain sweeps through me and I gag, and cough, as Matthew moves about the room. Warmth settles on my shoulders in the form of a blanket, but anywhere it touches my bare skin makes me nauseous. Pain radiates from every square inch of me, inside, and out. 

The scent of the blanket is odd, not comforting, and definitely generic. Barely cracking an eye open I am faced with what I know to be a hotel room.

“Why am I in a hotel?” My voice is flat, rasping.

“Because you didn’t want to go home.”

Matthew sounds exhausted, and strangely at ill-ease. I’ve never heard his tone like this, and it frightens me. “Matthew?” I croak.

“Hmm?” he answers softly.

I’m almost afraid to ask. “What…” So, I don’t. I close my eyes, and fall into a restless sleep once more.

+

The second time I awaken, there is no preceding dream; at least none that I remember. My mouth is dry and foreign, and the ache in my guts is reverberating through my bones, hot and cold, and clawing everywhere. I shake as I push myself to sitting, hissing at the pain that comes once more, and so I move to my feet, and choke on a pitiful sob as I stumble to gain my footing. I bite my lip to keep my suffering to myself - Matthew is passed out in the chair on the other side of the bed, chin to his chest and snoring softly, his clothes rumpled, a day’s worth of beard shadowing his chin. A glance to the clock tells me it is 5:17. Whether that is am or pm is anyone’s guess. The blinds are drawn tight over the windows, an attempt to lock out the world. I want to think of nothing but these four walls, and water. I’m so thirsty.

The walk to the bathroom is agonizing, a lifetime crossing burning carpet that reeks of stale cigarette smoke. I manage to smirk at that. Matthew has seen to it to find me a hotel with a room where I can smoke, and I spot a pack on the dresser, cellophane still intact, and a brand new bic lighter, shiny and purple. There’s a bag from a local pharmacy there, too, and a row of little orange pill bottles neatly arranged; a quick perusal reveals an arsenal of vicodin, percocet, ambien, oxycontin, T3’s, T4’s, and laxatives.

My guts heave at the latter, and I snag the cigarettes and the lighter from the dresser and move to the bathroom, tearing the pack open and lighting up as I shuffle and wince, whimper and shift. The acrid smoke is anything but, and I inhale once, quick and careless, the rush of fresh nicotine sailing up through my veins and giving me a small buzz, and then I puff away, tucking the cig into the corner of my mouth as I flick the light on, and wince at the harsh buzz of fluorescence.

My toes clutch against the cold sting of tile, and my hands curl along the lip of the counter, hauling me into place before the vanity. I don’t want to look up, and so I busy myself pulling the paper wrapping from a glass, knocking over the little tray of shampoo and lotion and shower caps. Muttering a curse, I moved to turn on the water when I notice a transparent, blue plastic bag sitting in the bottom of the sink.

The ache in my lower back twinges, and I’m keenly aware of the searing pain that is lower. Cigarette still smoking, but otherwise forgotten, I set the glass down on the counter and stare at the bag, and the knot tied into the top. I poke it, feeling the contents shift, and give easily. Something wet, perhaps, and cold, and dark.

Not unlike me.

With shaking hands I untie the knot and reach inside of the bag, confirming that the contents are wet. Wet clothing. Clutching the fabric I lift a pair of small, black swim briefs, and the scent of chlorine surrounds me.

My legs tremble.

_I whimper, twisting beneath the weight pinning me down, as harsh, thick fingers drag the boxers off of my waist, blunt nails scraping my hipbones on the way down. One hand continues to pull, the other reaches and fondles me none-too-gently, and the sudden twinge of arousal is a sucker punch to the gut as I am doubled over and helpless. I beg the blood to stop rushing to the point of contact, to spare me the humiliation, but soon I am filling Homme’s grip and the brute hums and sighs his praise at my reaction. His foot snares the boxers once they’ve passed my knees, and he pushes down before letting the soaked fabric fall to the floor, creating a puddle in which I will slip in when he puts himself inside of me._

In the hotel bathroom, I wretch, and my fist goes limp, the swim trunks falling with a wet, pitiful _plop_ to the marble counter top and I back away, still unable to look in the mirror. I glance down where bare toes grip the tile and I see the edge of a rusty stain around the nail of my big toe.

_“Is that blood, baby? Hmm? You bleeding for me, boy, or are you wet?” Homme’s chuckle will haunt me for a long time._

_The howl I heave in indignation gurgles out uselessly much to Homme’s delight, and I shake at the feel of hot, slippery liquid that suddenly floods between my thighs. I’ve gone and pissed myself, I think, but when I look I see nothing but red, thick and dark, dripping down from between my thighs, staining my skin. My toes slip through the mess where it pools on the floor as I try to grip the raw slate tiles that make up the flooring of Miles’ office. There is so much blood, I think, strangely fascinated with the sight until another agonizing stab of pain rips into me, followed by the sick grunt of the man who will proceed to rape me not once but twice._

I snatch the bag from the sink and hurl it into the bathtub, and turn back to the sink, blindly scrabbling for the glass I opened seconds before. My mouth is salty, that bile-taste crawling on the back of me tongue as my guts roil again, preparing to expel whatever I might have left. Knocking about the taps, I finally turn one on, and fill the glass, raising it to my mouth as I lift my head and take in the pitiful young man staring back at me.

My lip trembles, at it makes the cut there that much more realistic. I prod it with my tongue.

_“Always such a tease, Alexander, pouting, and prodding that lip when you don’t get your way. Well, here it comes, just what you deserve. Give me your mouth, baby.”_

I choke on a gag, and my eyes zig-zag across the face in the mirror. Pale, waxy skin. Dark shadows under the hollow eyes. Wild curls half dry, sticking to my neck and face. It looks like my face, but my face doesn’t have an angry, swollen, purple welt across the cheekbone, complete with a gash two inches long, fresh and shiny, still weeping.

_“Kane may own you, Alexander, but I own him. By default, that makes you mine, as well.”_

_“No,” I mutter uselessly, turning my head._

_The blow comes, sharp and heavy, making my ears ring. Then, I am rattled back, my head connecting with something solid, and everything goes blurry, and fuzzy, and numb._

_“Oh, yes, Alexander.”_

More retching in the bathroom; the glass fumbles from my hand and crashes to the bottom of the sink, exploding on impact as my legs give out from under me.

_I slide to the floor, hugging the leg of Miles’ desk, shaking, and sobbing, trying to be small and silent so that maybe Homme can’t see me. I can disappear into myself if I just hold tightly and make no sound. ___

_"Best keep this between you and me."_

He’d wanted it that way - Homme. He’d wanted it quiet at first, perhaps surprised that I’d given him the fight I’d had in me. My hand comes up over me mouth, clapping it shut, keeping the pitiful moaning in my throat in case someone hears me.

I don’t want anyone to find me like this. But the sound continues, a wailing, thin and agonized sound that’s winding up my throat, threatening to become a howl, and I bite down on my palm, like I bit down on his, only then I tasted blood, and sweat, and liquor, my own heat, his repugnant desire. I taste nothing now but hospital soap, and my throat gurgles. Beginning to shake, I try to take up no more room than the thin bath mat on the floor gives me. 

The door crashes open what feels like hours later, and I see legs, and feet dash towards me, a low voice muttering their disbelief at the situation. 

“Alex,” Matthew rasps. “Stay wiv me, mate. Stay awake - Alex!” 

He pulls me to sitting. At least now I have some wits about me. My fingers flex into Matthew’s arms; I don’t care that I’m clutching his still-healing wound. I imagine my eyes are wild, and reflected in his expression. I stare up at him, my lip quivering as I beg him, “Don’t tell Miles.” 

“Alex,” he says softly, shaking his head. 

_"Shhh. It'll be our secret."_

Using his weight, I pull myself upright, my face mere inches from him. “Not a word.” 

Matthew looks away, jaw tense, eyes narrowed, but he nods silently. When he looks at me again, it is with resignation at my request, but I know he is good for it. He nods again, and begins the long process of picking me up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long time coming, but hopefully well received. I'm sorry I've been falling behind on my updates, but sometimes life happens first, and you have to deal with it. Many thanks to my cheerleader Stanzie for drinking ciders from down the street where California is unfortunately not, but maybe someday soon.

Ever been shot?

I’m talkin’ _shot_ , with a gun, the bullet tearing through your skin and muscle at 2500 feet per _second_. No chance to dodge it - believe me, I asked, and Dr Sharrock assured me that I’d have to have been at least five hundred feet away to consider moving out of the way.

So, I got shot, and it would have been seven times had Matt not taken that first one, but I shouldn’t even be counting bullet holes and blessings.

Someone set me up to fall hard.

In this life, I’m used to it, used to double-crossing, and shifty plays by greedy men - hell, I wrote the book on how to get rich fast and make enemies at the same speed - but being plugged six times has put things into perspective for me. I got cocky. Too sure of an unsure thing. Because in this life, it’s every man for himself.

Except for Alex.

Laying in bed for the last six weeks has been agonizing, and I’m talking beyond the pain of recuperating. I miss Alex like I would a limb; he’s not here, and it’s making me uneasy. He’s my reality check, in all honesty, my little diamond shining in the dark, my uncut white gold badge of honor, perhaps the only pure thing I’ve ever had the privilege of touching.

An’, it’s been way too long since I’ve touched him.

Along wit’ the logistics of bullet travel, Doc Sharrock also informed me that drinking, smoking, and most certainly more ‘vigorous’ activities were off the menu until he deemed me fit to return to my particular brand of life. Up until about three days ago, it was all a fog anyway, drifting under the influence of painkillers. I dreamt about Alex; every thought in my hazy brain was about him: his laugh, the way he looked at me, looked _up_ to me - and he did look up to me, I detected that the first night in that bathroom when I saved him from having the piss beaten out of him. He was fascinated and it fed me ego, made me thrive, and vibrate, and want him even more. I missed his scent, his voice, his softness, the way he kissed, and fought, and panted, and whined when he gave up and let me just take. I needed that; needed to feel his desire and his desperation. I needed it beyond the drug-induced cloud I’d been floating on for those first few weeks.

Lucidity was a luxury, one that I’d managed to snag a handful of times, meetings with Matthew as we tried to determine who it was I was going to have to kill for turning me into a sieve; and meetings with Joshua, whom Clarke deemed my head of security almost immediately after I’d been shot. In any other situation, I might be grateful - Homme was a man not to be toyed with; he was business twenty-four seven; and when he wasn’t, he still had a bead on what was going on. It wasn’t lost on me, however, that he was in Chicago two days before he’d been scheduled to be there. Something about that didn’t sit right.

And it didn’t sit right with me the fact that Alex found Homme so loathsome. I’d come to trust my lad’s instincts in certain instances, and it was plain as the nose on my face that Homme fancied Alex in the form of a low-key infatuation. Like I could blame Homme, though. My lad is a sight to behold, gorgeous and melancholy. It made him so malleable. I’d taken Alex from a sad existence in low-rate clubs with cheap liquor and dorm-room grown weed to VIP lounges, Varvatos t shirts, fast cars, and all the blow he could ever want. He was _mine_ , which made me all the more anxious that I hadn’t seen him for the past few days. When I’d tried calling him, Matt had answered, telling me Alex was in the middle of a hot stone massage; that he’d begged Matt to get him out of the house for a little getaway to take his mind off of things. It made me smile, the indulging of Alex, but normally it was me who folded to his whims. 

It was noon somewhere, I reasoned as I swung me legs out over the edge of the bed and eyed the whiskey bottle three feet away. Here in California, it was barely nine am, but I’d been vibrating since seven, an unpleasant result of Doc Sharrock’s cruelty: “You can’t rely on painkillers forever, Miles.” _Bullshit_. Still, the whiskey bottle was closer than the percocet in the bottle in the loo. As were me cigarettes. _And_ me phone. I snared a cigarette and lit it, wincing at the cloying in my chest that came with not having smoked in so long - it wasn’t the first since I’d been shot, hell, I’d had one in the ambulance much to the EMTs’ dismay, but it still stung like a bitch. Once the spinning in my skull had subsided, I pulled myself to my feet, and steadily eyed the whiskey on the table.

It was a task, to say the least, hard fought but well rewarded. My shuffling steps took forever but in the end I had whiskey in my hand, and a cigarette tucked into my mouth, and I turned and meandered my way back to the bed so I could sink down and enjoy my drink. I saw the phone from the corner of my eye, and though Matt had said that he’d have Alex call me as soon as he was free, I was anxious. Swallowing another mouthful of whiskey, I snapped the phone up and dialled Alex straight away.

On the second ring I frowned, and drew another lungful of smoke only to send it sailing forth with an agitated sound. He would never keep me waiting; I glanced at the clock and tried to tell myself that he was most likely in the middle of getting another massage, or perhaps enjoying a quiet moment with his coffee - but that boy never let his phone get more than an arm’s length away.

But the fourth ring I was twitching, and trying to keep my cool as each breath I took pulled at my stitches and made a cold sweat break out on the back of my neck. I knew I wasn’t as healed as I wanted to be, but mind over matter, or some shite like that. 

The seventh ring had me seeing red, thinking too many scenarios that couldn’t even be logical on any given day, but with all the substances taking up room in my veins and pushing blood out, I couldn’t think straight. I needed Alex for that, and he was toeing a line - 

“You’re upright!”

I sucked in a startled breath and coughed, cigarette in the corner of me mouth forgotten until that moment. I sputtered and choked as I glanced at the doorway where Homme stood watching with an amused grin. I waved him off, cursing in a tight voice, and hung up the phone.

“But perhaps not on the mend?” Homme continued, moving into the room.

Groaning, I pulled my legs up onto the bed. “Fuck off,” I muttered, accepting the glass of water he poured and then offered. I drank it down, and then thrust the empty glass back to him. “Whiskey.”

“That what Doc Sharrock is ordering these days?”

“Fuck the limey prick and his remedies. Whiskey’s never let me down, so fuck off and pour me a measure.”

“Yeah, you’re healing up just fine,” Homme quipped, before moving to fill my order.

I said nothing as I watched Homme move about. He seemed...more smug somehow, if it were possible. There was a raw edge in his gaze when he turned back to me, and as soon as he handed me the whiskey-filled glass, he was moving to the windows, his fingers drawing the curtains back to one side.

“Have you heard from Alex?”

I stared at Homme’s back for a moment, and when he turned back to me, his face was neutral, if not a mite concerned, and I snorted and shook my head, gesturing to the phone. “Was just calling him when you burst in,” I drawled pointedly. “No answer.” I inspected the glass, took a sip, swallowed, and then drained the rest.

“He’s been gone for...two days?”

I winced at the burn from the whiskey, and shook my head. “Three by my count.” I sighed after I’d swallowed. Bristled by Alex’s inability to answer a call, but more so by Homme’s invasive nature. “I can’t blame him. It’s not exactly safe around here these days.”

Homme raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Did he say something to that effect?”

I shrugged and reached to stab my cigarette out in the now empty glass, smirking at the sharp hiss that followed, and the snaking tendril of thin smoke that rose. “He’s a cautious lad. An’ me being shot six times probably doesn’t make him feel particularly carefree.”

Homme smiled placatingly. “I suppose not.”

“But that’s what Clarke put you in charge for,” I added, watching him closely.

“Clarke wanted to make sure things ran smoothly while you were recovering.”

“And did they?” I ask, slowly raising a brow. “Run smoothly, I mean?”

“So far, so good,” Homme replied, unflinching.

I nodded, and Homme moved to sit at the desk, opening the laptop there.

“And what about me?” I asked lowly. “Any...news on that front? You can’t tell me there hasn’t been talk, Homme, the entire organization knows by now; someone must have some information.”

Homme clicked a few keys and shrugged before raising his gaze to mine. “Not much more than rumors, and dead ends. I’ve got a few of my best on it, Kane. It’s under control.”

“Unacceptable,” I snapped.

Homme blinked, surprised. “What?”

I scoffed and gestured to where I sat on the bed. “I was shot _six fucking times _, Homme, it’s _far_ from being 'under control'.” I took a breath, ignoring the sudden flare of pain behind my lungs, and in my ribs. Sharrock had warned about getting upset, but I couldn’t back down, not here, not in front of Homme, in my own home. “It may have been a vacation what with me flat on me back riddled with holes, but I’m back to buisness-” my voice strangled off with a choke as I winced at another sharp stab of pain. I huffed a curse, and curled the sheets into my fists. God, I was so fucking weak, and I knew that behind that placid smile, Homme was mocking me. Inhaling shakily, I blinked the strained tears from my eyes and glared back at Homme. “I’m back,” I rasped, feeling my mouth curl as my blood continued to boil. “And the first order of business is to find out who wants me dead so badly, and to return the favor.”__

\+ 

Three days since, and Alex still wasn’t sleeping through the night or eating much. He was drinking, though, and heavily, and he’d tossed the percocet at Matthew on the second day and demanded something stronger to take his mind off of it completely. When he was awake, he was haunted by flashes of that night - sometimes, Matthew would be talking to him, and he’d be staring right through him, focused on a point behind Matthew’s head that seemed to be a movie screen that played those six hours on a constant loop, a loop that jumped and skipped so much that Alex found himself retching, and throwing up the water he’d been forced to drink. After that, he’d been even more terrified to close his eyes. Ketamine downed with red wine had knocked him out for eighteen hours, only for him to wake in a hazy, dry-mouthed mess, his stomach aching, limbs numb and hollow. He’d teetered in twilight, and finally shook out of a fevered mess early that morning. Black coffee had been the order when he’d managed to sit upright. His voice was a wreck, and he’d waved Matthew aside when he’d lit a cigarette and then sought out a vial of cocaine in the pocket of his coat. 

“Alex,” Matthew murmured, “I think you’ve had enough substances for now. You should try to eat.” 

“Can barely think of food, let alone hold it down,” Alex rasped around his cigarette. His fingers shook as he fumbled with the lid on the vial. When he couldn’t get it open he made a small sound of defeat and hurled it against the wall. “Jesus Christ, Matthew,” he breathed, elbows pressed to the tops of his thighs as he leaned forward and breathed deeply. “Jesus _fucking_ \- it won’t stop. I...He’s everywhere, on me, around me...I can’t stop seein’ it.” As his words came faster, so did his breath, and soon enough his fingers were curled into his hair as he wheezed in discomfort. Screwing his eyes up against the visions in his head didn’t work; instead, it brought ghastly silhouettes of black and red on the backs of his eyelids, screeching voices and desperately pleading gasps ringing in his ears. 

“ _Alex_ ,” Matthew said more firmly. He moved from the doorway of the bathroom where he stood and hesitated before sinking down onto the edge of the bed next to Alex. “Alex, Miles has been calling-” 

“Oh, fuck,” Alex gasped, his hands fluttering over his face, smearing the tears on his cheeks. “Oh, fuck, Miles. Miles. Miles - you didn’t...please tell me you didn’t-” 

“No,” Matthew hastily confirmed. “I didn’t say owt, Alex. But he’s been calling, and...my excuses are wearing thin. So is his patience. I can’t keep diverting his calls without him getting suspicious.” 

And then on cue, Alex’s phone began to ring. 

It jerked Alex back into the moment, an electric current jolting through him, his spine going rigid, eyes wide and fixed on the device as it vibrated and rang shrilly. He bolted from the bed and stumbled forward, heart in his throat as Miles’ name and picture flashed on the screen of his phone. He made to reach for it and froze; hand poised to pick it up, but the ache in his bones too deep to allow for it. His breath shuddered in sync with each ring. 

“Alex, answer it,” Matthew growled from where he sat watching Alex hesitate. 

Slowly, Alex shook his head. “No,” he whispered. But his hand dropped a fraction, fingers curling to clutch the edges. He swallowed thickly. “I can’t, he’ll know, he’ll be able to tell summat’s wrong right away, I can’t lie to Miles, I never could-” 

And as suddenly as it had started ringing, the phone stopped and lay silent. The hotel room was as still as a graveyard. Alex’s breath was thin, and laboured, and he felt his pulse flutter. Salt and bile welled on the back of his tongue. 

Matthew cleared his throat. “You can’t avoid him forever.” 

“Does it show?” Alex whispered, lifting his gaze from the blank phone screen before turning to face Matthew. 

Matthew blinked and stared hard at Alex. “You can’t let it.” 

“How-” 

“Get in the shower. Clean up. Wash your hair, your face, get rid of those clothes - you’ve been in them for two days now. Get out of this room, and go to Miles.” 

“I can’t-” 

“You fucking _will_ , Alex, so help me. You’re playing a dangerous game, keeping him waiting like this. The longer you’re away, the more he’ll suspect.” 

Alex sneered and touched his cheek, and the swollen gash that adorned it. “And this?” 

“Slipped in the pool comin’ up the steps. Such a clumsy lad, eh?” Matthew’s jaw ticked as he mimicked Miles’ coddling. 

With a sniff, Alex nodded. “Aye. Reyt that.” He chuckled coldly. “Clumsy. Never paying attention.” He looked down at his hands and curled them into fists, and then steeled himself before looking back to Matthew with a gleam in his eye that the bodyguard had never seen before. “But I’m paying attention now.” 

\+ 

I swear I was in a dream under that water. It pounded down, pelting my skin with stinging needles. Instead of the shower being cleansing, it was torture, and as I blinked my eyes open with a gasp and planted my hands on the tiled wall before me, my wet hair hung over my eyes, tilting my vision. 

_“Go on and scream for me, baby. Hmm? I always figured you for a screamer. Now’s your chance.” Whiskey-soaked lips slipped over my cheek and my hands scrabbled along the blotter of Miles’ desk._

And then I was back in the shower, and someone was pounding on the door and water’d gone cold. I shivered, gooseflesh rising along my shoulders and my back. My legs protested, both overworked, and now sluggish with cold and damp. 

But still, my skin crawled with the memory of Homme’s touch creeping along my thighs, gripping, prying, bruising...I glanced down and saw the ghost of vicious fingerprints, purple and blue mottling the skin. My hand hesitated as I touched them, as if perhaps they weren’t really there. I couldn’t bring myself to touch down there for any reason - even cleaning seemed useless when I was soiled to the bone, inside and out. And the stitches itched already, making my cheeks burn hotly with shame. I coughed and sniffled, and cranked the water off. 

Shoving the glass door open, I stepped out and snatched a towel from the rack, snaking it around my body before stepping towards the sink. My toes slipped on the slick tile and I paused, stomach coiling at the sensation, and the images it caused to flash in my mind. 

_“Do you want to file a report?”_

_“Who is your family doctor?”_

_“...should be using a rape kit, it’s clear what happened…”_

I forced myself to look into the mirror. 

_Not much had changed since that first day, really. I drew my fingers back through my hair, grimacing as they snagged on knots-_

_Pain seared my skull as I was pulled up by my hair from where Homme had let me crumple after that first time. “Come on, Alex. We’re not done yet.” His fly was still open, skin damp with blood, with sweat, tears, come - “Give me your mouth.”_

The taste of my own blood haunted my tongue and my hands went for the mouthwash on the edge of the sink. I swished, and nothing but the antiseptic sting of alcohol. Spitting it out, I narrowed my gaze at myself once more. The gash on my cheek looked worse than it had that first day, now swollen even more, a portrait of brutality in green and purple, the maw of the wound red, crusted over, and angry. 

_“...it’s clear what happened. He’s torn up something awful.”_

I gripped the edge of the counter and took a breath, followed by another, and another, forcing down the sobs and the screams that threatened to tear out of my heart. I needed something - something to fix this moment, to fix reality, to screw my head on proper if I was going to face Miles. The very thought of it shook me fiercely. I grabbed my shaving kit from the counter and rifled through it, hoping to find another stash of cocaine, fearful that Matthew had found it and palmed it to keep me level - not that it would help. I was bobbing helplessly in a sea of my own misery and descending rapidly to the bottom. I could sink. I could just breath out and let it all flood over my head- 

_“Alex?”_

“I’ll be right out,” I croaked, looking into the mirror once more. I had no idea who would join Matthew in that room. All I knew was that I was no longer me. 

\+ 

Did the world look different, or was it just the way I looked at it? 

In the car on the way back to the house in Venice, everything seemed too bright, too harsh, and much, much too real. I was stifling and uncomfortable in the passenger seat, but I’d insisted upon having a new suit from the boutique downstairs brought up and tailored on the spot. The soft gray Hugo Boss looked immaculate; I reasoned with Matthew as I winced stepping into the slacks, that I couldn’t return to Miles looking like...well, like I did. According to Matthew’s story, I’d just spent three days at a spa. I should look refreshed and relaxed and put together, despite the fact I felt anything but. 

I didn’t realize I was clutching the handle of the door until we lurched to a stop at a red light and had an incredible urge for a cigarette. My fingers were cramped as I pried them from the door, and they shook as I felt my shirt pocket for the package of cigs I’d stashed there. I lit one with jerky movements, and then fumbled for the window, rolling it down all the way. 

Heat, and sound, blasted through the opening, and I immediately regretted my decision. I quickly jammed the button forward, rolling the window back up until there was just a crack to dispel the smoke I was quickly pulling and pushing from my lungs. 

_“You okay?” Matthew murmured lowly._

“M’fine,” I droned on autopilot before he’d barely finished speaking. 

I heard him sigh as he moved out of the traffic and pulled to a curb. Slipping the car into neutral, he came to a complete stop and stared at me. I didn’t move my head, and instead stared at the expensive mahogany trim of the dashboard, polished and flawless. My own reflection was stretched there, warped and terrifying, and I reached and pressed my fingers over the cool, smooth surface. Ash knocked from my cigartte where I held it between my knuckles and I brushed them away, smudging the surface. 

“Does it show?” I asked softly, once more. 

Matthew didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. I knew what I looked like; I’d stared long and hard at the lad looking back at me from the mirror. It showed. Every word that Homme had sneered, every blow he’d lain, every...every moment he’d taken from me he’d used against me, and now I was beyond any level of damage I’d met before. I hated him for that. For showing me how weak I could be. And I hated myself for it, too, for letting him get to me. It was stupid - I was stupid, had been stupid, thinking I could just waltz around that house while Homme sniffed after me like a dog. I didn’t do anything to discourage it, a word and a blow, yes, but I’d been the one to accept his offer for a drink, and deep down I had to have known...had to have expected it. He wanted it. Who was I to tell him ‘no’? 

“ _Alex_!” 

Matthew’s startled voice made me snap back to the present like a rubber band pulled taut and then released, and all at once I became aware of the acrid scent of burning lacquer. My eyes widened as I watched my cigarette burn a hole in the mahogany of the dash, my own hand pushing it there, twisting it slowly, thin smoke curling up. 

Pulling the cigarette back, I jammed my thumb on the window button and tossed the cigarette outside. I made a face at the puckered burn mark and then cocked my head until my reflection was lined up so that the cut on my cheekbone was lined up with the scar on the mahogany. 

“Not so perfect now,” I lamented softly. My fingers edged around the damaged wood. “Won’t love it as much,” I sniffed. 

“This was a shit idea,” Matthew grumbled. “I should _never_ have let you out of my sight that night, or listened to you keep it to myself-” 

“You promised!” I hissed, turning wide eyes on him. 

Matthew sneered and he huffed a breath, glaring out the windshield for a moment. When he turned back his jaw ticked. “He’ll kill me if he finds out.” 

I gaped at Matthew and then my gaze fell to the floor where I stared at my shoes. “What do you think he’ll do to me?” I asked in a small voice. 

“Fuck,” Matthew uttered. He was silent, and the traffic rolled by outside, the sound muffled as we sat in the car. “He’ll kill you. An’ then he’ll kill me,” Matthew summed up solemnly. “You have to pull your shit together, Alex. You look like a fookin’ ghost already.” 

I licked my cracked lips and nodded, and traced over the marred dashboard again before pulling the glove box open. I sifted through the items there - Miles’ sunglasses, his registration, a few empty prescription bottles, nothing that surprising. When I lifted the insurance packet, my heart skipped a beat, and suddenly, I felt desperate and elated all at once. A vial of cocaine stared back at me, and right next to it, a small handgun. I closed my fingers around the coke, still looking at the gun as if it were a snake, and I expected it to leap out and bite me. 

“Is Homme there? At the house?” 

“Huh?” Matthew turned towards me as I pried the top off of the cocaine and dumped a shaky pile on the inside of glove box. “What the fuck are you doin’, Al-” 

“Pullin me shit together,” I replied firmly, raising my eyebrow at Matthew as I opened my wallet and pulled out a bill. Rolling it tightly, I fitted the end into my nostril, leaned over, and hauled the powder up and into my system. “Fuck,” I sniffed, clearing my throat. Rubbing my nose, I glanced at Matthew once more. “Homme. Is he there at the house?” 

Matthew shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s got run of the place; he could be anywhere.” 

I snorted cynically. “Right. Drive.” 

“Are you sure?” 

I eyeballed Matthew for a spell, feeling the effects of the cocaine, before turning to close the glove box, one more glance to the gun therein. “What choice do I have?” I shrugged and looked back out the window as I sniffed again. “It’s good. Let’s do this. The sooner I’m home, the sooner I can see Miles, and the sooner I can take care of all this.” 

“What do you mean?” Matthew asked hesitantly. When I looked at him, he was eyeing me closely. 

I nodded back to the traffic. “Just drive.” 

\+ 

“I’ll get the bag. Do you need...can you get out okay?” Matthew asked, cutting his gaze to me for a moment. 

“I got it, yeah,” was all I said. 

I’d been waiting for this moment since we’d pulled over on the way home. As soon as Matthew was out of the car and heading towards the trunk, I popped the glove box open and grabbed the coke and the gun, stuffing the latter down the back of my trousers, wincing as I moved about the car in my haste. I then pried the cap off of the vial, dug my pinky in, and did another bump to silence the laughter and the pitiful whimpers in my head. The passenger side door tore open a few seconds later and Matthew looked down at me with a small frown. 

“You ready?” 

“Matthew,” I breathed out, closing my eyes and collecting myself, “If I am to appear to be fine, it might work better if you stop asking after my wellbeing.” 

The ex-boxer bit back a small smile. “Someone has to do it,” he shrugged. 

I suddenly felt very ashamed at my lack of gratitude. Pulling myself from the car, and refusing Matthew’s help to do so, I stood on tired legs and put my hand on Matthew’s good arm. “Thank you,” I said softly. “For…” I trailed off and shrugged. It wasn’t that I couldn’t thank Matthew for everything he’d done, only that everything was still so new. I took another breath and nodded tightly. “Thank you.” 

Matthew nodded silently, picked up my satchel, and led the way from the garage into the house. 

\+ 

“Where you been?” 

I stopped mid-stride into Miles’ recovery room and felt the smile melt from my face. It had been genuine, just for him - despite the dread I felt, and the way I avoided looking towards the stairs down to the lower levels, I was excited to be home for Miles - to see him. It felt like it had been forever. 

He was sitting upright, eyes trained right on me, unmoving. There was more color in his cheeks since the last time I’d seen him but something told me I might be part of that reason. If he was happy to see me, it didn’t show. 

“I - I were at the Marriott,” I mumbled, trying to scrape my smile up and reform it. “Joost a few days at the spa, needed to get outta tha house,” I shrugged. The hand I’d shoved into the pocket of my trousers twitched against my thigh and I forced myself to hold Miles’ steady gaze. I didn’t have the reassurance of Matthew at my back, but the weight of the Beretta stashed in the back of my trousers made me feel dangerously transparent. 

“C’mere, laa,” Miles purred next, his smile curling his lips. “An’ let me look at ya. Been too long - why didn’t you tell me you needed to get away? Coulda booked our room at the Ritz.” 

“I...I didn’t want to worry you with something so...frivolous.” I was next to his bed now, and I glanced at the side table where an ashtray sat, half a pack of cigarettes, and a bottle of Jameson. I wrinkled my nose and looked back at Miles. “Are you sure you should be…” 

“Well, what else were I gonna do while I was waiting for you?” Miles snapped, his eyes flashing. “All anyone talks about is me getting better but Alex, for fuck’s sake, how am I supposed to concentrate on my recovery when you’re not here where you’re supposed to be?” 

Suddenly, his eyes widened, and I felt my face grow hot as he zeroed in on the cut on my cheek. With an exasperated groan, Miles rolled his eyes up to the ceiling before he shook his head and chuckled. “What the hell happened to that lovely face, Al?” 

I shied away as I took a seat in the chair next to Miles’ bed and shrugged. “I were coming up outta the pool a few nights past - you know those stairs can be slippery. I fell. Caught the edge of the stool. It looks worse than it actually is.” I leaned forward in the chair and reached for the bottle of Jameson, and then searched for a glass. 

“Look at me, Alex,” Miles ordered, his hand reaching out to grip my wrist. 

I couldn’t help but obey and I blinked slowly, and traced his features, feeling my heart race, and my body warm. He hadn’t looked this healthy in weeks - there was color in his cheeks, though I suspected it had a bit to do with the whiskey. But the spark was there in his eyes, the one that had drawn me in that very first night. All at once I wanted to cry, to crumble into MIles and shut my eyes. Tears began to well, and I rubbed at my eyes furiously, mortified that I was falling apart like this. 

Miles’ hand moved from my wrist to my chin, and he pulled my gaze back to his. My eyes were wet, but I didn’t dare look away again. I tilted my chin into Miles’ grip and found myself clutching that hand with one of my own. 

Slowly, Miles began to snicker, the corners of his eyes creasing, until he was out and out guffawing. My blood ran cold and my stomach coiled, and then Miles shook his head and leaned further still towards me. 

“Bloody fucking ‘ell, laa, you’re flyin’ high, aren’t you? Your pupils are big as dinner plates and your emotions are all over. C’mon, don’t get upset, it’ll ruin your face more than your clumsiness already has.” 

He kissed me then, and I felt nothing but the acidic burn of humiliation as his tongue passed over mine. Miles tasted nowt but his own reassurance and deepened the kiss, threading his fingers through my hair, tightening the bulk in his fist and tugging, a move I’d normally fall pliantly for, but instead I stiffened, and put my hands on his chest in protest. I muttered a sound of discomfort and hastened to take a breath, breaking away, much to Miles’ displeasure. 

“What’s this about?” Miles growled, his fingers firm on my chin. 

I shook my head, flashing a weak smile. “Nothing. I’m - I’m tired, an’-” 

I was cut off by the door bursting open. I didn’t need to turn around to know who crossed the threshold - Homme seemed to carry an aura about him, and it clung to me like dead weight more now than it ever had before. My breath hitched and I froze, watching Miles’ gaze lift from my face and lighten considerably, even as my heart careened to my guts. 

“Joshua!” Miles crowed. “Look who’s back.” He grinned triumphantly and then looked at me expectantly. 

I turned my head on a stiff neck, blinking my eyes tight once, and then opening them. A tremor ran through me, violent and terrifying all at once, and I felt hollow, and cold. 

“Alexander.” 

_“Is that what Kane calls you? ‘Alexander’? ‘Alex’? Or is it simply ‘Al’? He seems fond of ‘laa’ - perhaps I should call you that, see how far it gets me.” A cruel chuckle flooded my ears as Homme’s hand palmed my belly and twisted lower, snaring damp curls and tugging viciously._

Bile crept up my throat as I stared, vision swimming and sweat beading on my brow. The gun in my belt was forgotten; all bravado I’d mustered in the garage and during the walk up to these rooms now seemed to be choked out by Homme’s stifling presence. My mouth was dry, and my body ached. 

_“Another drink? Look at you, a rag doll. Maybe not whiskey, then. More for me.” Homme snapped the bottle up and took another healthy swig as he pushed sweaty, strawberry locks from his forehead. “Maybe another bump, hmm?”_

“How are you faring?” Homme casually asked, coming into the room and nearing the bed. I forced myself to remain still. Perhaps if I didn’t move, he wouldn’t see me. “Spent a few days being pampered, I hear? Under the weather? Or...just needed to get away?” 

I shook my head, unblinking, unable to form an answer. And Homme was unflinching in his gaze, so much so that I had to turn away, incensing Miles immediately. 

“What’s got up your arse?” Miles snapped, frowning at me. 

I almost threw up at the sound of Homme’s laughter. 

“Christ,” Miles sighed, sounding put out, “you really are stoned, aren’t you?” 

More laughter, this time from both of them, and I looked down at the floor, my hand coming up to touch my cheek. 

“What happened?” Homme suddenly asked. 

I whipped my head around to stare at him, but his lips did not much more than quirk. 

“Slipped coming out of the pool,” Miles replied for me. “Clumsy laa, he is.” Miles reached and ruffled my hair and it took every fiber of my being not to pull away and utter a word of protest. 

I watched Homme press his mouth into a thin line as he pressed his thumb into the palm of his left hand and flexed his fingers. 

“And your hand?” I heard myself snap. “What happened there?” 

_He’d snarled at me, ordering me to scream for him._

_“Come on, just once. No one’s gonna hear you anyway, so just let it go, Alexander. The help’s all gone home, and Miles took his requisite painkillers. Trust me: I watched him on the camera, just like I watched you saunter down here wearing barely anything, waiting for this to happen. Maybe not like this, but beggars can’t be choosers, baby.”_

_I'd held it back as much as I could, but nothing could prepare me for the brutal onslaught of Homme’s thrusts, the way he pierced every wall I’d ever built, and barreled through the physical with little care for anything but his own satisfaction. A sound gurgled in my throat and he grunted, and barked for more, for it to be louder, and so I obeyed, and I didn’t hold back. I howled, screamed hysterically until I thought my throat would burst, the tendons would snap, and my eyes would bulge from my skull. That was when his hand clamped down and he hushed me, a mocking sound meant to do anything but soothe. I did the only thing I could think of, and I bit him, tearing at his palm, blood flooding my mouth. He roared, ripping his hand back and cuffing me smartly against the back of the head before he grunted, dug his hips deep, and smeared his blood across my face, making me choke. The tears rolled down my cheeks then, blurring the sight of my hands clutching Miles’ desk._

Homme tilted his head and blinked, and glanced towards Miles who watched our back and forth with curiostiy. He smiled again, smoothly serpentine, and chuckled. “Took a wild ride with a pretty young thing. Couldn’t contain her...exuberance. By the end of it, she knew who was in charge.” He began to laugh, and soon, the sound of Miles’ own chortling joined in. 

My stomach lurched as I quickly looked away. 

“Fucking hell, Alex, you’re pale as plaster,” Miles sniffed, his laughter dying. “Go clean yourself up, lay down or something. Come back when you’re feeling better, aye? Homme and I have things to discuss.” 

My mouth hung open as I stared at Miles in disbelief. “I just got back-” 

The look Miles afforded me was cold, and it cut into me. “An’ you’re the one that took off without notice. Psssh,” Miles mocked, waving me off when I gaped at him. “Don’t look like that, you’re the one that left me. Go an’ get settled. Get some rest - if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t sleep the whole time you were on your restful little getaway.” 

My mouth turned sour at the Miles’ obvious dismissal and I nodded curtly before standing. Miles eyed me as I stood, and then gestured towards himself, beckoning that I should come closer. Leaning towards him, Miles drew his fingertips down the side of my face before affording me a small, pleasant smile. “Don’t ever leave like that again, laa,” he began in a low voice. “I don’t like being deserted like that. You’ll be happy to know that I’ve been making progress - walking and such. Won’t be long before I’m back in our room, and you won’t have to be alone.” He cupped my jaw gently, and then pulled my mouth towards his for another kiss. He passed his lips over mine. “Get lost,” he whispered playfully. 

The horrifying thing was, I already was. 

I moved away from the bed and made my way to the door. Miles’ voice stopped me before I could exit, and I clutched the doorframe, turning back to him, avoiding the way Homme’s gaze slid over me. “If you see Helders, tell him I’d like a word with him. Can’t have my number one helping my wayward pup dig under the fence.” 

He couldn’t have hurt me more had he kicked me in the gut. I gave him a weak smile and nodded, and then staggered down the hall, towards the stairs that would lead up to our rooms. 

\+ 

I am standing in the doorway to my room. 

All is untouched. 

All is as I left it before. 

_Before._

_This is not me_ , I think, stepping into the space, breathing the air, smelling cologne, the laundry, stale cigarette smoke. None of it is me, not really, not anymore. I can’t explain it, really. It’s an unnerving sensation, seeing everything that ever meant anything to me in this poor excuse of existence. 

_What was I before?_

_What am I now?_

There is no possible way to hear anything coming from Miles’ recovery room way up here in this wing of the house, but his laughter, and Homme’s laughter, dog me.

I cross the carpet, watching my feet crush carpet in shoes I didn’t choose, in a life handed to me without warning. My shoulders slope with the realization that I didn’t read the fine print, or perhaps I knew all along and merely chose to ignore it. The pros, it seemed, had outweighed the cons. 

And now the cons had caught up, and I was on my way to being collateral damage. Pampered and privileged, fuck, how could I have been so blind? All this time, letting Miles call the shots so long as I was stoned, or drunk, fucked and fortunate. 

But he loves me,” I muttered out loud. _Does he_? 

_“You know, Miles only keeps you around because you’re such a good fuck. You’ve got to know that by now, Alex. I sure do. You’re not smart; if you were, you wouldn’t be in the thick. You wouldn’t be giving it up so sweetly, yeah? Miles doesn’t love you. What he does to you - that’s not love.”_

“Shut up,” I tell the Homme growling in my head. 

__That little ginger devil, the Homme in my head, snickers, kicks back in the chair behind the desk of my subconscious, and puts his feet up, just like he did in Miles’ office. “Awww,” he pouts. “Shut oop,” he echoes, mimicking me. “Such a sniveller; really, I can’t tell what he sees in you. You’re nothing more than a pair of warm holes to stick a dick in, Alex.”_ _

“Shut up!” I snarl, suddenly finding myself glaring at my reflection. My eyes are wild and I pause, and grin in a way I’ve never seen my face twist before. I make a startled sound of awe, and gasp, and hang my head once more, eyes blurring as I stare at the top of the dresser. My hands begin to sift through vinyl sleeves, empty cig packs, overlfowing notebooks, bottles of expensive cologne, a box full of golden trinkets used to buy admission to my weakest parts. 

_“Fucking **whore** ,” Homme rasps, and he’s right. He’s so right that I can’t deny it, I can only nod. I nod, and I cry and gasp, “Yes.”_

I sniff and rub at my nose, the back of my hand coming away wet with tears and snot. 

“Snivelling fookin’ brat,” I snap at the weakling staring back. “You’re nuffin’.” 

_“M’not!” I protest thinly._

The heels of my hand press into my eyes, slamming into the sockets so hard that I see bursts of light behind my eyelids. “You _are_!” I snarl, forcing my hands back through my hair and pulling until there’s the sting and the burn that tears a raging, vengeful scream from my throat. I breathe and I cannot force the air into my lungs fast enough, nor squeeze it out in time for me to take another breath. The ground is falling out from beneath my feat and I roar, howling at the indignity done, the pathetic being I’ve been whittled down to, the way I gave it up. 

I gave it all up. 

A split second later and the contents littered on my dresser are swept aside, fingers somehow finding the cocaine stashed there in three separate vials, now spilling their guts so I don’t have to, and I can keep my secrets and my sanity. One rail, and then another, and it burns, my eyes blur and tear up,but I do one more and rub my gums for good measure, coughing and snorting and catching a red-eyed reflection of myself in the mirror I’m bent over. 

That goes sailing, too, flung across the room to crash into the wall and damage plaster and paint. Then I’m staring at myself, face to face, in the ornately framed mirror before me, the cocaine pulsing in my veins, numbing my face, my limbs, and making my heart race. Sneering once more, I watch, vaguely concerned as I pull my hand back and drive it into the surface of the mirror with another anguished scream. The glass spiderwebs, and my knuckles split open like overripe fruit. Blood wells and runs in rivulets, converging in the natural grooves my skin, too much ink on the parchment. 

Too much soul on the skin. 

_“Fuck,” I laugh brokenly, dropping to my knees and twisting so that my back is butted against the dresser. The handle is digging into my spine, and I lean forward to adjust and rub the offended spot when my fingers caress the butt of the gun shoved down the back of my trousers, the steel made warm from my skin._

The gun. 

I grasp it and tug it free, and take not of the weight of it, and how it feels in my hand. It’s such a small thing, really. Balancing it on my kneecap, I stare at it, and fumble around for a cigarette, grasping one out of a pack that landed on the carpet. There’s an almost empty bottle of Bushmills next to my desk and I stretch for it, wincing at the pull of muscle and stitches, more of a nuisance in my current state, than anything else. Lighting up, me heart still pounds madly, and I smoke that cigarette faster than I ever thought possible. The entire time, I stare at the gun balanced on my knee cap, my empty hand curling, wanting to take hold of it again.

I pick it up and aim it at the door, finger tracing over the trigger. 

I could blow a hole in the door if I wanted to. 

What would that prove? 

A flick of the wrist and the barrel is pressed to the underside of my chin. 

I could blow a hole in this door, too. 

What would that prove? 

_“You know I’m right, Alexander. Another hole means another place to stick it, and make you squirm.”_

My molars set into my tongue as my finger slides around the trigger. 

It would be over rather quickly. 

_“I win,” Homme-in-my-head whispers._

“No,” I plead. 

_“Just roll over and take it like the good laa you are-”_

My phone rings shrilly. 

Fuck that phone, I’ll smash it to bits for giving me a heart attack twice today already.

I blink and become aware of the morbid sensation of a gun pressed into my jaw. 

Gently, I pull the firearm away, not letting it drop, but hanging it over my knee once more as I work my phone out of my pocket. Clarke’s number flashes on the screen, and I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse. 

“Hullo?” I croak uncertainly. 

“Ah, Mr. Turner. John Cooper Clarke here. Apologies for not getting back to you sooner, but I’ve been thinking of our meeting three days past, and I’m eager to set things in motion, so long as I have your permission.” 

“I…” my throat dries. 

No one has ever asked my permission before. 

“Sir?” I rasp. I sit up straighter, and frown at the gun. My vision sharpens from the swelling, blurred thing, narrowing to one precise moment. “I mean,” I cough, “Yes, sir.” 

“Did I wake you?” Clarke asks. 

“Only joost,” I reply slowly. “But I’m not the worse for it. Thank you, Sir.” Warmth fills my limbs at the concern in Clarke’s voice. 

“Have you had a chance to think about what we talked about? To position it to Miles?” 

“Not outright,” I hear myself reply. “Miles has only just started coming around, but I fear that...that he’s in even more danger now. With the lay of the household.” 

"What would you like me to do?” 

“Sir?” 

Clarke takes a breath. “What would you like to do, Alexander? Say the words, I can make it happen. _You_ can make it happen.” 

“Is it that easy? To just...get rid of him?” 

“I’m assuming you mean Homme, and yes. You want him gone?” 

"I want him _dead_." 

Clarke chuckles. “I knew you had it in you, lad. I’m afraid those extremes can’t be met just yet but...let me make a few phonecalls. Get some new men in place.” 

“I want your best,” I reply. If I sound cocky, Clarke doesn’t comment on it. 

“Leave it to me.” 

We ring off and I set my phone down and look once more to the gun on my knee. 

Has it been less than a week that Miles had let me hold his gun and I, the foolish lad, had played the wilting paramour? I had insisted that I couldn’t use a gun, that I wouldn’t, and Miles’ words echoed now in my brain, _“It’s a dangerous world we live in, laa, I’m sure you’ve realized that. An’ if you haven’t learned thus far, I protect my assets. As much as I want to be near you and keep you safe every moment, I can’t.”_

This was the first step then. This morning, I’d wanted nothing more than to sink and disappear, to drown, to never surface again. But not now. I wouldn’t sink like a stone. Not yet. Not like this - not hurled into it by a man like Homme. I wouldn’t let that bastard clip my wings. 

Somehow, I needed to soar. 

_But first, I needed to learn how to fly._

\+ 

In his home in North Hollywood, John Cooper Clarke began calling a list of names, checking off those he thought would suit the needs of Alex Turner first, and Miles Kane second. At the top of the list, however, was one man he knew would be right for the job - if he could get him back on American soil. He’d gone underground, had been busting skulls for the likes of Carl ‘Black Cat’ Barat last he heard, but that was where the trail had run cold. He hadn’t heard any word about the muscle the French arms dealer had hired, and so Clarke went to the source, dialling long distance and waiting. 

His call was answered on the third ring. 

Barat was in a jovial, talkative mood, spouting words of affection and insisting that Clarke had to come and see him soon, that his children missed ‘Uncle Johnny’ and that they’d have to take the speedboat out again. 

“But,” Barat sighed, exhaling what Clarke knew to be a plume of smoke from the cigarette he always seemed to be clutching and waving about, “something tells me that is not the reason you are calling so late, my friend. What can I do for you?” 

“I need a favor, old friend,” Clarke replied smoothly. “As you well know, an attempt on Kane’s life was made only a handful of weeks ago.” 

“Ah, _oui, je sais_. I was shocked. Tell me, Johnny, what do you need? Guns? Money? Men?” 

“Men. Or rather ‘a’ man. Your best.” 

_“Absolutement _. I can send The Trio, yes? Casablancas, and his shadows Moretti, and Valensi.”__

Clarke sputtered a curse. “I don’t want those three idiots, Barat, you fucking frog. I said I want your _best_. _The_ best. I want Cook.” 


	7. Chapter 7

It was reassuring to see Miles on his feet again. With Homme gone, Miles felt it necessary to reassert himself in the house, bringing back the housekeeping staff, and ensuring that Charlotte was comfortable with working her magic in the kitchen. But more than just walking about and giving orders, it was a sight indeed to see Miles finally out of lounge pants and light house robes, and back into his usual fare of slacks and jackets, open shirts, loud ties. Still, he looked...different. His face had thinned from recovery, eyes even more keen than the day we met. There was an edge to him now, honed when he took six bullets, sharpened to a deadly finish in the weeks that followed when he was helpless. He would never admit to it, but he was rattled by it - any man would be; when I think about it now, I recall those small details that belied his need to be calm and collected. He looked over his shoulder more now, and things that he would have laughed off in the past now caused his face to draw and darken with a cloud of uncertainty. As a final piece of armor, Miles had taken to wearing his gun almost all of the time. I hated seeing that thing hang off of his narrow shoulders, adding another weight to the load he’d never carried before. 

But the wounds had closed; I’d seen him oft enough without clothes now that he was back in our room. We shared a bed, even if it was just to sleep - though I doubt either of us really did in fact sleep. Miles’ state of being, a combination of nerves, anger, and vibrating arousal, was a cloud, thick and heavy in the room. I lay awake beside him, back turned to him as I stared at the numbers on the clock. More than once he’d reached for me, and I’d managed to feign sleep well enough, made a show about taking Ambien when I laid down so that he’d realize he was putting stock into something that wouldn’t give him immediate results. And I ached for him, well and truly - to be back in his arms, under him, under his spell, watching him watching me as he moved...the ache was extinguished rather quickly, however, with lead in my belly, and a dry mouth. I still _hurt_ inside from what Homme had done, and while my surface wounds had healed just as Miles’ had, Homme had done his job well, and wrecked me to the fiber of my being. I knew that Miles could only be dissuaded for so long. Soon enough he’d grow tired of my routine.

Other things had changed, however. Never again would I be so predictable as I had been all those months. Predictability made you easy prey, I’d come to realize, and having a schedule of when I slept, and swam, and always eating the same thing had made me a target. I hadn’t even neared the pool since that night; if Miles noticed, he hadn’t said anything. I rarely slept, and when I did, it was fitful, and at odd hours of the day, my nights full of dangerous moments of introspection as I fought to keep my breathing even with Miles behind me. I surprised Charlotte when she’d come back, telling her that I’d no longer be requiring grapefruit and whole wheat toast, eggs every morning. I think she liked the idea of being able to spread her wings, culinary-wise at least, but she did fix me with an odd look when I told her I wanted to break with tradition. I waved off her obvious concern then and there.

We were on a skeleton crew of sorts when it came to security, with Matthew pulling double duty as Miles’ right hand because it was expected, and keeping a watchful gaze over me as covertly as he could. Ford was back, but he was never quite the same, either, and I wondered what else might have transpired between he and Homme outside of the busted lip and black eyes. Still, he was diligent as ever, perhaps even more detail-oriented, with a manic precision that Miles took for loyalty. My money was on Ford being scared shitless, likely to piss himself at the first unhappy look from Miles. 

Whatever the case, Ford was sure to inform us the exact moment the large SUV containing the replacement team arrived on a Monday morning a week after I’d sat down with Clarke and gone over the dossiers of each man I’d chosen. It might have been with a bit of gentle guidance from Clarke, but in the end, I’d made the call, something that Miles found both amusing, and ambitious.

_“That’s sweet, laa,” he’d purred, tugging me across the bed the morning after the first night he’d spent upstairs. I fought to keep my limbs relaxed as his hands closed over my wrists and arranged me so that my cheek was pressed against the smooth (albeit scarred), warm skin of his chest. He tucked his fingers into my hair and sighed. “Tryna keep me safe. Hmm? Innit that **my** job, Alex, keepin’ you that way?”_

_My fingers hand flexed involuntarily at Miles’ hip, and he’d taken it for a different signal all together, option to drop a soft kiss to my brow before hauling me up so that our noses were practically touching. “What brought this on?” he whispered, tucking an errant wave of my hair behind my ear._

_I shrugged and tried to look complacent as best I could, but inside I was beginning to feel the ill-effects of his mollycoddling. “I haven’t felt safe since you were shot,” I confessed. That part was at least true. “And Homme gives me an...uneasy feeling.” Even saying the name made my stomach twist painfully. “And you were unconscious for so long that I took matters into me own hands. We weren’t getting anywhere with finding out who did this to you - and we will find out, Miles. So I...I went to Clarke. Talked it over.”_

_“ **You**?” Miles sputtered, his eyes going wide as he pushed me back and stiffly moved to sit up. “You went to Clarke?”_

_I shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t have a choice.”_

_“Well that’s just fuckin’ fantastic, innit, Alex? Christ, that’s all I need, bullet-ridden an’ unable to take care o’me own. Did you all have a good laugh at my inability to take care of things?”_

_I scowled and shook my head. “Miles, it’s not like that - how could you say that? I…” Pressing my lips together, I tried another route. “I did this for **you** , you know.”_

_“Oh, yes, thank you for humiliating me in front of my superiors.” Miles sneered, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He grasped at a small bottle of T3’s and cracked it open, shaking two pills into his hand._

_“Stop it,” I muttered. “Stop thinkin’ you’re the only one affected by this.”_

_Miles shot me a hard look from over his shoulder. “I didn’t see you layin’ an’ convalescing for the last three weeks, Alex.” Twisting around, he grimaced at sore muscles, but continued anyway. “Didn’t see you slippin’ in an’ out of consciousness, unable to do anythin’ but lay there an’ watch Homme try an’ take over.”_

_I flinched and looked away, my guts cramping at the irony of Miles’ words._

_His lips pulled into a snarl and he grabbed my face, thumb and forefinger pressing into my jaw as he scrambled to his knees, and made me cower on the bed. “No, laa,” he purred grimly, “you went to the fuckin’ Marriot an’ had a hot stone massage. Crepes. Probably a manicure.”_

_I was shaking with the tone of his voice, and the weight of his words. “M’sorreh,” I heard myself whisper. Feeling the tears begin to well, my cheeks burned at the thought of any slipping free in this moment. But something must have changed in my face, in my eyes, because Miles’ grip softened a split second later, and all trace of malice was wiped from his angular features._

_“So am I, Alex,” he murmured gently. Then, he sighed, and curled his arm around my shoulder, pulling me to sit next to him. “So Clarke picked em’, you say?”_

_“Well-” I stopped short, and merely nodded. “Yeah, he...more or less guided my hand. They’re good men, Miles. The best - Clarke called in a favour from his friend Barat, an’-”_

_“Black Cat?” Miles interrupted. “Black Cat Barat?”_

_I shrugged. “Aye, that’s him.”_

_“Jesus, this is gonna be a fuckin’ **circus** , laa. He’s even flightier than that ol’ codger, Clarke.”_

_I flashed him my most placating smile, and Miles shook his head and sighed once more, before throwing the pills he’d clutched in his fist back into his mouth, swallowing them dry. “Right,” he rasped, letting his gaze wander over my face before slipping down to the wide collar of the t shirt I’d thrown on before bed the night before. “I’ll **look** at them. See what you two dug up.” His eyes met mine once more. “But I get final say as to who’s watchin’ me arse.”_

+

At his elbow, Miles’ phone buzzed with an incoming text from Ford, alerting them of the arrival. He gulped down the last mouthful of his coffee and dabbed at his mouth, looking Alex over once more. The lad was wearing the navy suit which fit him well enough, but seemed out of place on a June morning. Miles thumbed a quick reply to Ford, set the phone down, and then reached to pull Alex’s sunglasses off of his face.

Alex flinched and raised a hand, a move that made Miles pause, and scowl behind his own sunnies. “What was that?” Miles asked flatly, shifting his seat closer to Alex and snatching the sunglasses off of Alex.

Blinking in the bright glare of the terrace, Alex frowned and pushed his plate away. “You startled me,” he muttered. “I were...I weren’t paying attention.”

Miles snorted. “What else is new.” He waited a beat and then continued. “The navy is a little...somber for California in June, isn’t it, laa?”

Alex’s dark eyes went wide with disbelief, and he glanced down at the lines of his jacket. “I thought you liked this one?” He tugged at the lapels nervously.

Miles smiled indulgently, and leaned into Alex’s space, stealing a kiss before Alex knew what was happening. “I like it just fine, Alex. But not at this...juncture. Go put the dove grey Armani on, won’t ya, love? I want you looking your best. These guys need to know they’re protecting my most precious possession.”

With furrowed brow, Alex pushed his chair back and rose, and marched off of the terrace.

“An’ leave the attitude up there while you’re at it,” Miles barked after him. He tossed his napkin to his plate, and then made his way into the house to head out to the front courtyard.

+

“Fuck me sideways, this place is _massive_!” Julian Casablancas exclaimed as the SUV rolled around the circular driveway of the Venice Beach house. Pressing his face to the window, he trained his dark eyes up and grinned, and then motioned for his partners, Fabrizio Moretti, and Nick Valensi, to follow suit. They did so gladly, moving in unison as they often did after receiving the go-ahead from Casablancas.

The three of them chattered on as the SUV made a round on the drive, marvelling at the beach front property, the cars lined in the carport, the impressive windows that lined the front of the building, and the palm trees that swayed in the soft breeze from the ocean. They paid little attention to the fourth occupant of the SUV, the silent set of brains and brawn, Jamie Cook, who had sat sullenly on the flight over, a dark cloud looming over his person ever since Barat had declared that their services were needed stateside.

Presently, Cook was stealing his own glances of the property, noting the excess of access points, the lack of secure walls, and them minimal work force out to greet the SUV. The man with the curly hair was most likely James Ford, head of security for his new employer, Miles Kane. Next he observed the appearance of a second man at the top of the steps, taller than Ford, and broader, with a wave of dark hair shorn up the sides of his head. With a right arm in a sling, and the slightly off-center nose of a boxer, Cook determined this was Matthew J Helders, The Third, once a prize fighter, now the muscle behind Kane’s team.

“Why aren’t there more?” Cook murmured to himself, scanning the carport. One middle-aged, slightly overweight guy, and another who looked more the part but with his arm in a sling? Christ, no wonder Kane had gotten shot. Cook sighed and sank back into the leather seat and watched as Casablancas, Moretti, and Valensi, more or less bounced around the vehicle as it rolled to a stop.

One by one they filed out, Casablancas first, then his two shadows, with Cook bringing up the rear. They formed a line in the bright morning sun that spilled into the courtyard, the heat of the day already apparent. Ford stood to one side as Helders opened the front door of the house, and out stepped Miles Kane in the flesh. Cook stared long and hard at the man he’d only seen from a distance a handful of times on his visits to Barat in France. 

Kane was wiry, less than six feet tall, but commanding in the way he held himself. He graced the top of the steps in dark glasses, a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, gray slacks. A shoulder holster was slung over his torso, laden with what Cook would wager was a SIG, and an abundance of gold jewelry was littered about his wrist, neck, and fingers. When he smiled, the broadness of it split his face, teeth gleaming, but there was nothing kind in that smile that Cook could detect. There was an agitated undertone, like he was inconvenienced at having to receive them. 

Turning to mutter something to Helders, Kane then slinked down the steps and clapped his hands together.

“John Cooper Clarke seems to think I needed my security reevaluated,” Kane began, slowly walking along the line of assembled men. “Thinks that Helders and Ford here aren’t enough to protect my assets.” Standing in front of Moretti he paused, reached into his slacks pocket, and produced a shiny, platinum cigarette case. Clicking it open, he produced a cigarette, and then lit it with the lighter he fished from his other pocket. Cocking an eyebrow at Moretti, Kane blew out a plume of smoke. “What do you think? Hmm? Think you’re enough to keep this house secure?”

Moretti blinked at the question, and then glanced to his left where Casablancas stood.

Scoffing, Kane shook his head and stepped sideways to look over Casablancas. “Oh, I forgot. These two can’t wipe their arses without checking with you, first. So I’ll ask you - what makes you think you’re up for the job?”

Casablancas grinned, and effected a casual shrug. “I didn’t really get a say - but Clarke seems to think we’ll do well. You don’t see Barat having any problems, do you?”

Kane tilted his chin up at Casablancas’ casual tone, and then smiled wanly. “A smart-ass and his two shadows. Perfect.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Kane,” Casablancas interjected. “Fab and Valensi are two of the best sharpshooters in the world. Sure, they come in a pair, and they’re pains in the ass, but it’s like having eyes in the sky twenty-four seven.”

Kane nodded. “And what does that make you?”

“Well, I’m the charmer, sir.” He flashed a winning smile. “I’ll diffuse most situations before they become a threat.”

“Most?” Kane echoed. “And the ones you don’t?”

Casablancas executed a sudden move, and before Kane could react the other man had pulled Kane’s gun from his shoulder holster and cocked it, pressing the barrel into Kane’s chest. Seconds later Ford was on Casablancas, his gun pulled, and Helders had stormed down the steps, drawing his weapon as well.

“Bang,” Casablancas murmured, grinning down at Kane. “You’re already dead.” Another set of precise movements and Casablancas had the hammer uncocked and the gun turned around to present it to Kane once more.

Kane stood motionless for a moment, and Cook didn’t miss the sudden drain of color from his face. His hand was shaking as he took the gun back, but he cracked a smile, and let loose a nervous chuckle that bloomed into full on laughter as Casablancas joined him. Helders’ jaw ticked, but he didn’t move from where he crowded Kane’s side, and Ford looked like he was going to throw up.

“All right,” Kane murmured, tucking his gun back into place. “Quick mouth and quick hands. I can use that.” He knocked an elbow back into Helders’ side. “This one here has had his bell rung one too many times. I keep him around for sentimental reasons.”

Cook watched as Helders said nothing, did nothing, but his jaw ticked again, and tightened considerably. “And what about him?” Kane suddenly said, nodding down towards Cook. “Where does he fit in?” Kane sauntered forward, passing the other three until he was standing toe-to-toe with Cook.

“Christ, Clarke could have at least asked you to clean yourself up,” Kane muttered, glancing over Cook’s appearance.

It was something Cook hadn’t really thought about, but now in the sharpened light of California, among edged suits and precise haircuts and angled jawlines, Cook became keenly aware that he did in fact stick out like a sore thumb. He hadn’t the time to cut the beard off, and his hair, while pulled back neatly, still fell well below his shoulders.

“So, what are you? The watchdog?” Kane laughed, and Casablancas, Moretti, and Valensi joined in.

Cook pressed his mouth into a hard line but didn’t take the bait. Instead he took a breath and squared his shoulders, and stared into the mirrored lenses of Kane’s aviator sunglasses. “James Cook. I run the show.”

“Oh, do ya?” Kane asked lightly. “And how, pray tell, do you do that?”

“Because that's what I've been hired to do, Kane. While these three idiots are running around being flashy, I’m doing the groundwork. You’ve got this place opened up like a buffet. Or a shooting range. You want to protect your assets? You need to tighten things up around here. There was no one to authorize us at the gate, you know that? No one to check we were who we said we were.” Cook snorted and nodded towards Ford. “This guy practically rolled out the welcome mat for us.” Ford glanced away with a scowl, and Cook continued. “How many pieces you think we’re carrying, collectively? All loaded, too.” Narrowing his eyes, Cook lowered his voice. “You want your assets safe? You follow my lead, no questions asked.”

Kane growled and tore his sunglasses from his face, and glared at Cook, who coolly returned the stare. He was used to this type of standoff. He could do this for hours-

The front door swung open and a lithe, lean frame appeared, and shuffled down the steps. Cook’s gaze faltered as he glanced over and took the creature in - young, no older than twenty-eight he guessed, with dark hair, pale skin, and a lingering gait that swung at the hips in a loose fashion. The soft gray suit was casual; the sunglasses perched on the face obviously designer, and the cut on the angled cheekbone healed over, but relatively new still.

Kane snapped his fingers, drawing Cook’s attention back to him. The Scouser pursed his lips into a sneer and he nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think I remember you. Didn’t see much of you at Barat’s, eh? Kept to yourself. Didn’t fuck about.” Kane flashed another quick grin, and made a show of brushing imaginary dust off of Cook’s jacket. Then, he curled long fingers into the leather and tightened his grip, pulling Cook close until their noses were almost touching. “You a lone wolf, Cook? Hmm? A badass?”

Cook sneered. “I can hold my own.”

Kane waited another beat and then scowled, and turned on his heel, moving towards the young man that had joined them. Watching their exchange, Cook began breaking down their relationship. Judging by the placating manner in which the younger man gestured, and the way Kane’s hands smoothed over the younger man’s suit, this was the boy-toy, Alex Turner, that Barat had mentioned once or twice. 

Turner lifted his head and glanced down the line, making a face when he got to Cook. “Jesus, Miles, let’s hope they don’t piss on the carpet.” The gravelly giggle that followed grated over Cook’s nerves.

At his sides, Cook’s fists tightened, and he made special note of the lad - he was privileged, it seemed, and used to getting pampered by Kane. By the way the lad skittered about, Cook would bet money that Turner was high, probably coke or some other form of amphetamine. Drugs made things terribly complicated; while he knew Kane was a dealer, it never boded well when those that handled operations were stuffing their noses or their veins with the commodity. Cook would have to deal with it if he was going to do his job here, but that didn’t mean he’d have to like it. He decided then and there that avoiding Turner was probably his safest bet.

Kane said a few more words, tucked a lock of the lad’s hair behind his ear, and then pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before turning back to the four waiting.

“The only reason you four are here is because Clarke wanted you here. He chose you for some reason, one that I can’t for the life of me fathom. Other than the fact that Barat is still alive, you’re going to have to prove yourselves competent.” As he spoke, he walked up the line, turned, and then moved back down. Now, he was in front of Cook once more, and he directed his next words towards him. “I’m in charge here. I’m the alpha. I’m the _law_ here, and no one in my employ is above that. Are you receiving me?”

Cook nodded his chin once, knowing that this new assignment was going to test his patience to its limits. “In technicolor.”

+

I was high for the rest of that day. There was nothing else to do, really, other than watch Miles boss around the new blood, and that was only entertaining for so long. For the most part, it seemed that three gangly brunets would do anything required of them, while the shorter, fairer of the pack seemed reluctant with anything Miles said. I thought there might be a bit of sport there, a bit of backlash - the blond seemed the type, at least at first. But Miles appeared to set him straight, too, and after Miles had deemed them suitable for a trial run, he sent them off to get cleaned up - haircuts, new clothes, and a shave in the blond’s case. Then, Miles squared himself away in the main parlor, his cell phone in hand, cutting deals and bullshitting for the most part. For a while I read, and then lounged outside for a spell, took a shower, ate, and did bump after bump as I wandered around aimlessly. At one point, I sagged next to Miles and nudged him.

“Hold on a second, mate,” Miles muttered. He put his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone and looked at me pointedly. “What _is_ your problem, love?”

I pouted, and shrugged, and then twirled my fingertips on Miles’ kneecap. He twitched, and I flashed a small grin. “M’bored. Can you hang up the phone now, Mi? Come keep me company.”

Miles sighed, put out, and rolled his eyes. “No, Alex, I can’t hang up the phone. This is business. You understand business, don’t you?” Miles gestured to the room. “This all costs money, babeh, so let Daddy work, yeah?” He plucked my hand from his knee and then pressed his mouth to my fingers. “I’ll make it up to ya later, yeah?” He winked, and his message was clear.

I shivered, and it wasn’t from excitement. I felt the color drain from my face, but I nodded, almost robotic.

“There’s me good laa,” Miles whispered, ducking to press another kiss to my forehead. “Off with ya, then. Go for a swim or somethin’ - you haven’t used the pool in weeks.” He gave me a gentle push, indicating that I should go, and I swallowed and gave him a tight smile.

Then I left, and locked myself in my room for the rest of the afternoon. I slept for a spell, only waking up when I felt my stomach growl. Charlotte had prepared a lovely spread of seared salmon and pilaf, but I more or less pushed my food around my plate, staring at Miles’ empty seat. He didn’t even call up to request a plate brought to him; I knew this because eventually I took my plate and joined Charlotte in the kitchen, opening a bottle of Spanish rioja white that cost more than what Charlotte made for one day of work. She’d tried to put me off, but I’d insisted, telling her I couldn’t possibly drink a whole bottle myself. We polished it off quickly, and then I helped her with the dishes, something so insanely domestic and departed that I found myself smiling as I scrubbed, and she dried and put things back in their places. It was a delightful distraction, one that I didn’t know I needed until Charlotte glanced at the clock, and her green eyes went wide as her smile fell.

“Oh...Alex, I’m sorry, I - I’m having such a wonderful time, really, but...see, I have tickets to this concert tonight, and I was actually done an hour ago, and-”

My cheeks heated with embarrassment, and I shook my head vehemently. “I’ve kept you - my apologies, love. Really, it’s fine.”

“There’s dessert in the fridge. Cheesecake with blackberry coulis.” She untied her apron and moved to hang it on the hook.

I moved to the fridge and pulled the door open, smiling at the miniature cakes drizzled with the dark, sweet and sticky syrup. “Charlotte, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”

She laughed, and shook her head. “Maybe not to that extent but...I could really use next Sunday off?”

Gathering the platter with the cheesecakes in one hand, I closed the fridge and looked back to Charlotte. “Leave it with me,” I said with a wink. “We’ll work something out.”

“Are you sure? I should probably clear it with Mr. Kane-”

I snorted, and set the platter down on the counter, and began digging through drawers for a fork. “Does it look like Mr. Kane is concerned whether or not you’re slaving away up here?” Finding a fork I paused, and glanced back to Charlotte. She was a beautiful girl, really, always smiling and laughing, so the melancholy nature of her expression hit me with an open palm.

She forced a smile anyway. “Have a good night, Alex,” she softly offered. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Then she was gone, leaving me alone with a plateful of cheesecake, and an ache in my throat. 

“Fuck it,” I muttered, tearing back the cling wrap from the cheesecake and stabbing the fork into one of the cups. I downed it in two bites, and then opened the fridge for another four hundred dollar bottle of wine. Tucking this under my arm, I gathered the platter and my fork, and trudged upstairs to the bedroom I shared with Miles.

+

_“Seems there’s been a changing of the guard,” Homme announced lightly as he waltzed into Miles’ former recovery room. It no longer held the bed or the myriad of narcotics, but Miles was still present, flicking through a stack of file folders and frowning at the contents within._

_“Hmm,” Miles nodded, finally looking up at Homme. “Did you know Clarke was gonna do this?”_

_Homme shrugged, and folded his huge frame onto the settee opposite the chair where Miles sat hunched over. “I don’t even think Clarke knew he was gonna do this. I mean, the old man’s brain is like Swiss cheese, Kane, riddled with holes, and the occasional line of bad beat poetry. Sometimes I wonder how he got to where he is.”_

_“He inherited the fortune and the business from Osterberg.”_

_Homme nodded. “Not exactly suited for the position, is he?”_

_Kane sighed and closed the file he was looking at - something about someone named ‘Valensi’, and gave Homme a pointed look. “Well, he’s certainly proved himself. You’re on your way to France at nothing but a word from him. Tell Barat I say, ‘Bonjour.’”_

_“Something on your mind, Kane? You’re more acerbic than usual.”_

_Miles smiled tightly. “I’m eager to get new muscle in here, is all. Men who are competent. Men who won’t let details slide. And there has been sliding, Homme. Plenty of it.”_

_Homme’s glacial gaze hardened and he sat up, and leaned forward mirroring Miles’ position. “Why don’t you come right out and say it, Kane? Say what’s on your mind; I’d like to clear the air before I hop the pond.”_

_“Clarke never does anything without reason. A month ago he sang your praises and made you head of my security detail after Chicago. Maybe he got hold of new information, maybe somebody said something. All I know is we’re here now, and you’ve been scrubbed. He’s pulling four of Barat’s finest to watch over me and mine. I **will** find out who shot me, Homme, who set me up. And when I do…” Kane paused and chuckled dryly, “I can’t be responsible for the actions I’ll take to ensure that they will be begging for their life with their last breath.”_

Sitting in the same spot, ten days since Homme had left for Paris, Miles recalled Homme’s face at the end of his speech. There had been a glimmer of uncertainty for a split second, and then Homme had laughed loudly, and stood, and stuck his hand out to shake upon parting. Had there been a tremor there in that broad palm? The giant of a man had always had a look about him, one that signaled unflinching disinterest with any subject he was presented with; his persona was usually calm and cool.

Except for when it came to Alex. When Alex was involved, Homme almost seemed to let a bit of his guard down, to flirt, and to joke with the lad, uninvited as it was.

The thought struck a nerve with Miles. Alex had always been at ill-ease when Homme was present, and their last exchange, when Alex had returned from his three days at the Marriot, had been even more prickly. In fact, prickly wasn’t even the word, it had been downright caustic. A tiny thought began niggling the back of Miles’ brain.

_Is Alex hiding something from me?_

Miles scowled and shook his head; what could have possibly transpired that would cause Alex to keep something from him - to lie to him?

_Is that why he went to Clarke?_

He couldn’t very well call up Clarke and ask - the question of Alex not telling Miles something would be raised, and that wouldn’t look good on Miles at all. A lover keeping secrets never boded well; hadn’t there been some drama surrounding that within Barat’s household three years past? 

_Something about a girl._

_And one of Barat’s men._

_And twenty-one kilos of pure, uncut Nicaraguan-_

Miles’ phone rang, cutting his thought short. He paused as the name flashed on the screen, and he contemplated letting it go to voicemail. Getting a phone call from Jesse Hughes was either a blessing or a curse in Miles’ mind. Hesitating only a moment longer, Kane answered.

“This is Kane.”

“It’s Hughes.” His voice sounded thin, and cautious.

“Aye, I got that,” Miles muttered. Already on alert, Miles ventured warily, “What do you want?”

There was a pause, and a bit of rustling, before Hughes continued, this time hushed. “We gotta talk.”

“Oh?” Miles sat up straight. “And why is that?”

“Not now - not on the phone. But we gotta talk, Kane. And soon.”

Miles opened his mouth to speak, but the sudden thud and thump of raucous bass and hammering drums flooded down from upstairs. Glancing up at the ceiling, Miles frowned and stood, moving to the door to poke his head out.

“Right, fine,” Miles muttered. “Next Wednesday. I’ve got some time before noon-”

Hughes chuckled humorlessly. “Nah, that won’t do. It’s gotta be this week. Tomorrow.”

Glancing up the hallway to the stairs that led up, Miles narrowed his gaze and concentrated on the muffled music. Alex was blaring Interpol, it seemed, no doubt trying to get Miles’ attention - he was in danger of blowing the subwoofer at this rate. He stepped into the hallway and started for the stairs, even as Hughes rambled on the other end of the phone.

“Kane, you listening? Tomorrow. It’s tomorrow or nothing. Shit’s gone sideways-”

“Tomorrow, fine, right. Come by in the afternoon,” Miles absently replied. 

He took the first step leading up and thumbed the ‘end call’ button, slipping the phone into his pocket before setting his hand on the railing. Christ, he could feel the bass in the wood, buzzing and thumping under his palm. _What has gotten into you, Alex?_ Miles groused silently, climbing the steps.

+

_“You know what I’m gonna miss the most?” Homme had the gall to corner Alex in the hallway outside of the kitchen on his last day of duty in Venice, and he blocked the way for the slight lad. “I mean, other than those little, breathy pleas for help. Guess what I’m gonna miss.”_

_Alex didn’t move, and he didn’t speak. His jaw tightened as he swallowed bile, and all the rage that threatened to boil over. He felt lightheaded, and panicked at the thought that Homme had caught him unawares again._

_When Alex still refused to answer, Homme leaned in, smirking at the way Alex cowered so quickly he slammed into the wall and turned his head so he wouldn’t have to face Homme. The giant chuckled, and then pressed his nose into Alex’s hair, right beside his ear. “Gonna miss these pretty, sweet curls of yours.” He reached up with a hand and attempted to wrap one around his finger, when Alex suddenly lashed out, hissing, “No!”, and slapping Homme’s hand away._

The cheesecake lay forgotten, four of the twelve small confections still intact, crumbs and smears of blackberry sauce evident on the glass platter. While Interpol blasts madly from the sound system wired into the bedroom, Alex stands before the mirror, eyes glazed like the reflective surface, his hands tugging and twisting at his hair, pulling it back in a fist at the back of his head, turning one way, and then the other, contemplating. He sniffs, and turns back to the dresser, and does another line. Reaching for his wineglass, he downs the contents and sighs after he swallows. 

He doesn’t hear the door open, so when Miles appears behind him in the the mirror’s reflection, he’s startled, and he gasps, eyes wide with surprise. When he turns to look at Miles, he’s met with an expression that smacks of annoyance, and impatience. The Scouser’s lips move as his eyebrows furrow together, but Alex can’t hear him, and he scowls too, and shakes his head.

Pursing his lips tightly, Miles glances about the immediate area, taking note of the empty wine bottle and the streaks of cocaine left on a mirror. Spying the tiny remote for the sound system, he snatches it up, and grinds his thumb on the volume control as the music dims to a dull roar.

“I said turn it down,” Miles repeats, though now it’s unnecessary. He makes an all encompassing gesture to the room and to Alex. “What the fuck are ya doin’ up here?”

For a moment, Alex gapes at Miles, opening and closing his mouth as half a dozen replies come to the fore. Finally, he sighs, and turns back to the mirror. “Nowt,” he mumbles.

Miles affects a little pout and then sighs dramatically, and lopes forward until he’s standing behind Alex, long arms looping about the lad’s narrow waist, his chin dropping to Alex’s shoulder. “Come on love, an’ tell me all about it. Somethin’s botherin’ you; you’ve been acting’ like a brat all day.”

Eyes trained on the top of the dresser, Alex makes a face at the small insult, and then lifts his shoulders and peeks up at Miles from under his lashes. “D’ya...d’ya think I should cut me hair?”

“Wot?” Miles blinks, confused, and he touches a curl in question. “What brought this on?” Standing straight, he leans to one side and takes in Alex’s profile, and the downturn of his mouth.

“Nevermind, forget it.”

“Darling, I’m startin’ to worry about you - loud music, mainlining cheesecake and cocaine,” and he pauses and scans the almost empty wine bottle, “and guzzling a five hundred dollar bottle of wine...and you now you want to cut your hair? You’re acting like…”

Alex turns in Miles’ arms and raises an eyebrow. “A brat?” he finishes haughtily, throwing the term back in Miles’ face.

Miles grins. “More like a pet who’s been ignored for far too long.” Ignoring the way Alex scowls at yet another insult, Miles turns Alex back to the mirror and once more wraps his arms around Alex’s middle. “Come now, you’re being far too serious for me tonight, laa. Lighten up, hmm? Homme is gone, we’ve got a new crew who seem more or less competent,” and here MIles pauses and pushes Alex’s hair from his neck. 

Gooseflesh rises, and Alex shivers, all signs that encourage Miles’ course of action. His next words come in a sweet and sultry whisper, long fingers sliding up to toy with the button fastened just below Alex’s throat. “An’ I’m back in business, baby.” Holding Alex’s gaze in the mirror, Miles slips the top button, and then next two open. “Ain’t that reason enough to celebrate?” 

The cool slide of Miles’ fingertips against the dip of his collarbones makes Alex’s breath stutter, and he raises a shaking hand to still the Scouser’s movement. “Miles, wait,” he rasps, though what he’s going to say next, he hasn’t got planned.

“Shhhh,” Miles chides gently, his palm skipping down the last few buttons still fastened to pull Alex’s shirt from his slacks. “You gettin’ shy on me? It’s been a while, I know, but it’s just me, yeah? S’just me.” 

Miles’ words are soft, and incredibly gentle, but his hands tell an entirely different story. His tongue edges up the curve of Alex’s ear with a hot moan, and his hips push into Alex’s ass, his need evident, and his urgency apparent. Tugging at Alex’s belt, Miles pushes his foot between Alex’s and gives a nudge forward.

Alex’s heart lurches in his chest as his hands connect with the top of the dresser. For a moment, he freezes, and his ears ring madly as a cold sweat breaks out along his skin. Miles grip is like a pair of iron claws on his hips, tearing at his belt, opening his slacks, dipping down over his churning belly to slip into his briefs.

His eyes squeeze shut with a hollow exhale and he wills himself not to cry, and not to lash out. Instead, he forces himself to turn in Miles’ embrace and open his eyes, and look at the other man, his lover, the safest thing he’s known in a long time. At least, he’s supposed to feel safe in Miles’ presence. Right now, he’s uncertain to a frightening degree, and his hands circle Miles’ neck, clinging to him with a gasp, and wide eyes.

“God, it _has_ been a while, hasn’t it?” Miles murmurs, dragging his gaze up and down Alex’s trembling frame. He smiles and then cups Alex’s face with his hand, frowning when those large dark eyes slip closed on a sob. “Shhh,” Miles soothes, dropping a kiss to Alex’s mouth. The kiss is off, lacking in the enthusiasm that usually barely contained by the younger man. Alex is stiff, and not where he’s supposed to be. Pulling back, Miles sighs and presses his thumb to Alex’s bottom lip. “Alex, look at me.”

Alex can hear the reservation in Miles’ voice, and he takes a breath before obeying, and looking up into those sparkling hazel eyes. “I-I’m joost...overwhelemed,” Alex croaks, his hands shaking as he lays his palms on Miles’ chest. “Maybe...maybe I can...do summat?” His lips quirk in what he hopes is a smile and he gently pushes Miles back towards the bed. 

The Scouser sinks down with a grin, shrugging his jacket off and leaning back, spreading his knees expectantly, widening his feet and making room for Alex. “You callin’ the shots?” Miles leans back on his hands. “Go to.”

+

 _This_ he can do. And, he can do it with his eyes closed, which is rather helpful. There’s a gentle twist in Miles’ hips, but it’s encouraging. Alex’s senses are flooded with the familiar warmth and weight of Miles on his tongue, invading his throat. All he tastes is what he knows to be Miles, all he hears is the gentle sigh, and though he chokes on his breath the first time Miles’ hand gently settles in his hair, he settles his hands on Miles’s thighs and centers himself. Pulling back for a breath, he shakes his hair from his eyes and glances up.

He sees a flash of cold, hard blue, and his stomach flips, and then those sharp hazel eyes of Miles’ are staring down at him. The Scouser is red in the cheeks, jaw slack as he leans back onto his elbows and gently rolls his hips up and down.

“Christ, laa,” he huffs, moaning softly as Alex flicks his tongue over the tip and gives him a timid smile. “I’ve forgotten how well you do this,” Miles sighs. “I should have had you down in me recovery room - _god, yes, Alex_ \- ah, bringin’ me back to life.” 

A little flare of pride wells in Alex’s chest and he doubles his efforts, putting a hand around the base of Miles’ shaft to hold him while he sucks and swallows the entire length of him. When the smooth tip is against the back of his throat, he hums, and the fingers in his hair tighten. The sting startles Alex and pulls him from his self-induced trance. His free hand clenches Miles’ thigh, and he tries to pull back, but the pressure on the back of his head increases. Miles grunts and lifts his hips suddenly, groaning in the back of his throat.

“Eager fuckin’ tart, aren’t you?” Miles growls.

_“Show me how much you want it.”_

A pitiful, choking whimper wells up from Alex’s lungs, but it’s lost on Miles. The man on his knees tries to pull back again, lungs starting to burn from the lack of oxygen. His eyes water with the effort, and when he looks up at Miles, panicked and uncertain, Miles grins and shakes his head.

“You fookin’ love it, baby, don’t try and tell Daddy otherwise.”

There’s a mess of spit and precome that sputters at the corners of Alex’s mouth and Miles snarls and gives the boy some relief, releasing the grip he has in the curls, and watching as Alex sits back, Miles’ cock disengaging from his throat and dripping as it bobs between his thighs. 

Alex quickly swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Miles?” He dares to ask, his hand hesitant to reach out and touch him again.

Miles threads his fingers with the hand that Alex offers, and with one quick yank the boy is hauled off of his knees and swung onto the bed.

“Enough teasin’,” Miles growls, palming Alex’s crotch through his slacks, frowning when he finds the lad is less than completely hard. 

Alex twists under Miles’ heavy hand, limbs akimbo, and he tries to creep up the bed. No longer in charge - though he knows deep down that he never really was - he’s starting to shake as his stomach cramps, and the very deepest parts of him twinge and become heavy with dread.

“Mi,” Alex whispers, closing his eyes as Miles peels the wool slacks from Alex’s hips.

“Been too long - waitin’ on this for too long, Al,” Miles murmurs, pressing his nose to Alex’s jaw as his fingers move like lightening, scorching a painful, clawing path along Alex’s body as he rids the smaller man of the rest of his clothing. “Give it up,” Miles breathes, searching blindly on the bedside for a bottle of lube. He finds it and clicks it open, and then pins one of Alex’s shaking legs to the mattress. “M’done playin’ games, laa.”

The cool slide of slickness against his asshole makes Alex whimper pitifully, and he fights himself to keep his legs open, to keep his tears held back, to just keep breathing.

The terror threatens to take over, and the familiarity of Miles’ touch, Miles’ rhythm, is suddenly crude and almost alien. Alex knows he should like this. He’s _supposed_ to get pleasure from this, but as Miles settles his weight between Alex’s thighs and begins what has always been a swift, snug slide, Alex is quite certain that Miles is tearing him apart worse than Homme ever could. The stitches have done their work inside, but Alex’s pieces rend on the crooked seams he’s whip-stitched together with cocaine and alcohol and putting things in boxes. Like a torn sail, he flails in the wake of Miles’ exuberance, and he can do nothing but hold on in the coming storm.

+

Midnight had come and gone, and James Cook - Jaime to those that knew him - was wide awake, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring out onto the pool deck and the lights’ reflections from under the water. The surface was like glass; he hadn’t seen anybody use it all day which made him wonder why someone need a pool if they weren’t going to use it. Then again, the entire house seemed like almost too much from the get go: open floor plan, glass and windows, average fence stature, and while the _inside_ boasted a rather concise alarm system, complete with digital cameras and mics set everywhere save the lower levels, the _outside_ was the cause of Jamie’s concern. Pretty much anyone could walk in, and that would prove to make his job rather difficult. Had Kane been interested in anything Jamie had to say, the Scouser might have spent the rest of the afternoon going over plans to increase security, rather than sending Jamie, Casablancas, Fab, and Valensi into Beverly Hills to be groomed.

“If you’re gonna work for me,” Kane had reasoned, “you may as well look the part.”

‘The Part’ as it were, was made up of haircuts for the lot of them - well, more like negotiations for the other three. Fab and Valensi were more receptive to the notion of shearing their locks than Casablancas was. He settled for a trim, and stripping the bold streaks of red and yellow from his dark hair. Jamie, however, was the most changed. Looking like a roadie for Black Sabbath when he sat down in the stylist, Sergio’s, chair, he received wolf whistles and copious amounts of jeering when he reappeared in front of his team, clean shaven, his hair cut into shorter, loose waves. He took the ribbing in stride; hair and a beard could be grown back. Jamie never had been afraid of change.

Still...something about the Kane residence made Jamie uneasy, and the familiarity of that feeling was unsettling. He reasoned with himself as he unpacked his lightly-packed grip that it was because he was back on US soil after a long haul overseas, and that Kane was a sitting duck out here on the beach. But there was something else, too. There was an awkward silence within the house, like something had transpired, secret, and unwelcome. Jamie shrugged this off, too, as too many years on the job. His once-useful sixth sense that detected when shit was about to go down had failed him before, and it had cost him dearly. He didn’t trust his guts anymore than he trusted Kane.

Sleep was elusive. A quick walk around the premises might clear his head. He could take a moment to see things in the dark, and in the still, and perhaps see things in a way that daylight seemed to alter. Tugging his boots on, he slipped out the patio door and cross the pool deck, and found the back door unlocked. Jamie ducked inside, and took in the atmosphere of the house. Nothing moved. He padded down the hallway in the direction of the kitchen, and soon found himself nosing through the fridge, softly pushing jars of fancy olives aside, and moving around containers of yogurt and an assortment of gourmet mustards until he found what he was looking for. Trust Kane to be good for something - a pack of proper British ale, Boddington’s, to be exact, stared him in the face, and he snapped one out of the plastic rings and closed the fridge, before sliding onto a stool at the breakfast bar. He didn’t bother with lights, merely slipped his thumb under the tab and pressed it up, savouring the quick spurt and hiss of a freshly cracked beer.

He swallowed half of it down right away, and let out small sigh of satisfaction. It had been a long journey from France to California. Putting up with Casablanca’s bullshit, and the antics of Fab and Valensi, while on a transatlantic flight, had made him edgier than normal. He took another gulp of beer, and pressed the can to his mouth to take a third when he heard a gentle thud in the hallway outside of the kitchen. It was followed by another and another, and Jamie soon determined the sounds to be footsteps. Gently setting his beer down, he sat back and didn’t move as he watched a figure shuffle into the darkened room.

There was a gentle rumble of a voice, slightly melodic, and meandering, winding around lyrics of a song that Jamie didn’t know. Then, a sliver of light appeared where the fridge was cracked open. More light spilled into the kitchen and a long, lean silhouette broke the glare. It seemed Alex Turner was having trouble sleeping, too, and Jamie watched as the young man leaned into the open fridge, gaze open and unfocused, one eyebrow raised as he randomly shifted things around on the shelves, sleeves of the oversized, charcoal sweater falling down over his hands.

Jamie was silent as he watched Alex rummage around, lips moving as he breathed out more lyrics, almost absently, dark hair suddenly swinging forward across his angular face. Alex tucked the curl away with a bit of a frown, and then reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, long fingers already grasping at the lid and twisting. One pointy elbow connected with the door of the fridge, swinging it shut; the lid to the bottle spun off, and Alex reached towards the backsplash on the sink and flipped a switch, turning on a small light that was mounted under the cupboards there. For the next several moments, Alex stared into the sink, raising the bottle, taking small sips, and swallowing tightly. He’d stopped his singing and now took shuddering breaths, his eyes closing every now and then, squeezing tightly as the fingers of his free hand curled into a fist, knuckles turning white.

Jamie cocked his head, watching as Alex’s features twisted, contorting and relaxing, the breathing sharpened now, pointed, almost gasping as if perhaps he was suffocating. It might be a mild panic attack, Jamie thought, or perhaps something wrought with anxiety. Whatever it was, the lad was working through something, and it was a red flag in Jamie’s face, warning him to stay far, far away.

That was the moment, of course, that Alex’s head suddenly shot up, and he swung to look at the breakfast bar, sucking in a startled breath when he made out the shape of Jamie’s shadow. With a small cry of distress, Alex reached to the light switches once more and flipped the rest of them into the ‘on’ position. The kitchen was illuminated immediately, and Alex stared at Jamie, eyes wide, and indignant.

“The fuck are you doin’ in here?” Alex snapped, shrinking down into his sweater.

Jamie cocked an eyebrow and forced himself to maintain eye contact, even though Alex’s hand tugged at the hem of his sweater, trying to pull it down over his boxer briefs. He lifted his half-empty can. “‘Avin’ a beer. You?”

“S’my fookin’ kitchen,” was the growled reply. 

Jamie nodded curtly. “Do I need your permission?”

The dark-haired man snorted and rolled his eyes. “No.” His tone was haughty, but his expression was wary, and he took a step forward and peered towards Jamie. “Was that you, then?”

Jamie furrowed his brow in confusion. “Where?”

Half of Alex’s mouth turned up in a wry grin. “Yeah, that was you, under that beard an’ all that hair.”

Heat flooded Jamie’s cheeks, but he concentrated on remaining neutral.

Alex sniffed and took a sip of water. “Sergio did a good job, s’pose,” he announced after he’d swallowed. He turned another curious glance towards Jamie. “Still rather surly, aren’t you?”

Jamie lifted his beer and took another sip, noting how his silence seemed to fluster the lad, who began picking at the label of his water bottle.

“Are you comfortable? In your room, I mean. Is everything to your liking?”

“That your job, Alex?” Jamie rasped, sitting back in his chair. “Askin’ about the comfort of your guests? Playin’ the housewife?”

The bottle in Alex’s hand let out a protesting crunch as his fist suddenly tightened. His jaw did the same.

Jamie leaned back a fraction at the expression Alex fired in his direction. “Struck a nerve?”

“M’not fookin’...playin’,” Alex growled. “I were curious. You’re not...you obviously can’t sleep,” he finally spat out, gesturing to their current positions.

“Neither can you, it seems. Are you not comfortable?” Jamie leaned forward and gave Alex a humorless smile. 

Once more the bottle crunched in Alex’s grip, and this time water bubbled out the top. “I...That’s not...” Alex paused, cursing as water erupted and hit the floor. “That’s none of your business.” He tossed the bottle into the sink with a clatter and glared at Jamie.

“My business,” Jamie began, standing as he did so, “is keeping this house, and everyone in it, safe. So I need to know how everyone fits in around here, Alex.” Jamie took a step forward, rounding the breakfast bar, and Alex took a step back, making Jamie pause. Asserting his physical presence wasn’t an issue; Alex seemed well aware of it, and wasn’t eager to stand his ground. Jamie filed the thought away, and switched tactics. “From what I can determine, you’re the typical boy-toy, a playboy’s plaything, set up in a castle with everything he could ever want: money, cars, clothes, coke - you name it, Kane’s got it, each and every one of your desires wrapped up in gold. I know your type. I know your motives.”

Alex quickly looked away as the color drained from his cheeks, and wrapped his arms around his midsection. “You don’t know nuffin’ bout nuffin’,” he muttered. “You don’t know this house,” he rambled on. Suddenly, his eyes swung back to Jamie, hard, and glittering. “You don’t know its ghosts.”

Jamie’s mouth went dry at the hollow voice, and the anger, and the dread lurking in impossibly dark eyes. He’d been tripped by this before, by helplessness, and his own desire to do good. Taking a deep breath, he held it, and blinked as Alex looked up at him from beneath thick lashes. Those lashes then fluttered, and Alex was turning, fingers twisting into a lock of his hair and pushing it behind his ear. Slinking to the doorway, Alex paused and turned back to look at Jamie from over his shoulder.

“I know your type, too, Cook. I’ve done me homework. We’ve all got summat we’re running from.”

Then, Alex was gone, blending into the night, and the shadows, and whatever possible ghosts he spoke of. Jamie was left standing in the kitchen, heart in his throat, wondering just how much of his past Alex Turner knew about.

+


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a LONG chapter, people; on google docs it was close to 40 pages. Apologies. There is also graphic mention of rape / non consensual sex at the end, so if this is a trigger, or you don't want to read, you've been warned.
> 
> Many thanks to Stanzie who spent the last two weeks cheering me on, and cheering me up.

_“Wake up.”_

_He stirs, but mumbles something about ‘not yet’. He smiles in his sleep, rolls over, tucks the pillow under his head, and sighs._

_“Jamie, wake up,” the voice continues. Feminine, familiar; a sing-song voice edged with something akin with humour._

_He feels her hands tug on his shoulders, feels the bed dip with her weight as she crawls over him. He rolls over as she does, and she seats herself in his lap, the sheet between them. One hand slides up his chest, across the splash of dark blond curls on his pectorals, and nimble fingers toy with the gold chain, and the Saint Christopher’s medal there. Next, those fingers curl into the blond waves on his head; her lips touch his and murmur his name once more._

_He grins against the kiss, and snares her in his arms, making her squeal in surprise and delight. He slips one hand up into her waist-length hair, and the other hand lands on her backside to knead the rounded flesh playfully. Sliding his tongue against hers, his hips roll up and he grinds into the soft, welcoming heat of her body. He smells sandalwood and citrus, and fights the sudden urge to weep._

_“C’mon, baby,” he urges instead, the tip of his tongue tracing her lips before he pulls away. Hands find her breasts, small and firm, but absolute perfection according to him. She’s wearing his tank top, and he can feel her nipples through the ribbed cotton. With a growl he pinches the tight peaks and makes her squeal again._

_“Jamie, I’m cold,” she suddenly rasps._

_Her voice is wary, and frightened, and he opens his eyes to see her lovely mouth turned down in a pout._

_“Baby?” He asks gently, hands sliding down her torso._

_Then he feels it: the hot, sickly and sticky slide of blood beneath his palms. The white tank top she wears is blooming red from the center out, and his hands are stained with it._

_“It **hurts** ,” she snarls, wrapping cold, clawing fingers around Jamie’s wrists. “Why didn’t you stop him? You could have stopped him, Jamie!”_

I woke with a gasp, and a name rattling my tongue, eyes bulging as sweat beaded on my forehead. Glancing at the clock told me I’d slept for less than three hours after my encounter with Turner. Raising my hands to my face, I was surprised to find that my fingertips came away wet, and that tears had tracked my cheeks. The shrillness in which she had shrieked my name still jangled my nerves, but the dream was fading already.

_“You don’t know this house. You don’t know its ghosts.”_

There’s a certain fragility waking from a dream you don’t really remember, and I grasped at the words echoing in my brain, now jumbled with the words that I’d gone to bed mulling over. My fingers meanwhile grasped the pendant strung on the simple gold chain that had been a posthumous gift.

I was used to minimal stability when it came to living quarters - in my job, it was par for the course - but the inherent unease I felt in Kane’s home allowed for little sleep, especially after my midnight foray into the kitchen. With no quality sleep at hand, and the first vestiges of light starting to turn the sky hazy purple and gray, I laid in bed quietly, reviewing a few notes I’d made upon arrival the day before. There was a lot to cover with Kane, and I had a mind to catch him right away, as soon as I found Ford and the plans to the mansion. Changes needed to be made, and quickly. The man hired to shoot Kane was still out there, of that I had no doubt, and I knew with every fiber of my being that Kane had been set up.

The minutes passed, and so did the early morning darkness. When I glanced out to the apron of the pool I froze, staring at the pale figure of Turner as he lurked at the edges of the water.

_“You don’t know its ghosts.”_

His sudden appearance surprised me, and made me hesitate - how had I missed him coming outside? I sat up a little more, leaning forward and watching as he lingered, gaze cast in the direction of the steps that led up from the shallow end, and he suddenly touched his cheek and shuffled his feet back.

The main door to the house slid open on its tracks with enough speed and force for it to bounce in its frame. Two seconds later came a series of hollers, laced with laughter, and Fab and Valensi burst onto the deck, shoving each other out of the way as they scrambled for the water. First one, and then the other, shrieked with more laughter before they wrestled each other into the water with a splash, shattering the mirror-like surface and the quiet of the morning. I quickly looked for Alex and caught him backing into the shadows, before he slid along the side of the house and slipped into the door Fab and Valensi had come from.

_“We’ve all got summat we’re running from.”_

Within moments Casablancas appeared on the pool deck, and he joined the first two, chuckling and carousing, enjoying a few moments freedom before the depth of the job was greater than the depth of the pool.

“Cook! Get your arse out here already!” Casablancas sang, bracing his hands on the ledge and pushing himself from the water. He padded on wet feet to the sliding doors that led from my bedroom to the pool, and he rapped his knuckles on the glass and then cupped his hand over his eyes, and pressed his face forward.

“I know you’re in there, I can see you working already,” he called. “C’mon, the water’s great.”

I rose from the bed and moved to the door, sliding it open and giving Casablancas a hard look as I stared up at him where he dripped on the concrete. “M’workin,” I shrugged.

“Yeah, I got that. It’s not even six am,” Casablancas grinned. “You got time to take a dip.”

I shook my head reluctantly. “Have your fun now, yeah?” I offered lightly. “It’s work from here on out.”

Casablancas paused and glanced back to where Fab and Valensi were roughhousing, and then he quickly looked to me. “What’s going on?”

My eyes found the spot where Alex had lingered like a specter, and then quickly cut to Casablancas. “I’m not entirely sure.” Moving away from the door towards my duffel bag, I began digging around for a clean shirt as I continued to explain my concerns to Casablancas. “Whoever is responsible for Chicago still wants Kane eliminated. Of that much, I’m certain. And I think they intend to go through any channel possible.” Tugging an undershirt on, I slipped the black button down overtop and fastened the buttons, and then tucked the tails into my trousers.

“You think Alex...do you think he knows something?”

I paused as I was reaching for my shoulder harness, and glanced back to Casablancas. He was almost as clever as I was, that one, a charmer, yes, but also painfully observant. “What do you think?”

“Full lockdown?”

“I don’t think Kane will go for something that extreme,” I sighed, shaking my head. “He’s too much a playboy. He’s young, and he’s impulsive. He’s still trying to make a name for himself. Sees himself as unbreakable.” Sliding my arms through the holster, I checked my piece, a Ruger SR45. “At least, that’s how he did see himself.”

“Yeah, but he’s always been cocky, Cook. Remember him at Barat’s? Parading around as one of Homme’s top dogs, Turner nipping at his heels.” Casablancas sighed and shook his head.

I didn’t need Casablancas’ reminder. The Scouser had swaggered then, but it was in the spirit of naivety, and youth. There was a nervous quality about him now, confidence shot, or at least weathered. 

“He’s dangerous, Jules,” I insisted. “Keep your wits about you. I’d say the same goes for those two jackasses,” I paused, and gestured to Fab and Valensi in the pool, who were trying to drown one another, “but that’d be a waste of time. I’m going to talk to Kane as soon as he gets his ass out of bed. Finish up in the pool and meet me down in the security room. I’m gonna have Ford go over what they do have in place, and start drawing up plans for something a little heavier.” 

Casablancas nodded. “Sure, no problem. What about Fab and Valensi?”

“Get them on perimeter right away. I want logs in place of who’s coming and going at this point. Find Helders, get him to cooperate with this. I don’t see getting him on board to be a challenge; he looked ready to tear your head off when you pulled Kane’s gun yesterday.”

Casablancas grinned widely. “That was pretty cool, you have to admit.”

I had to laugh. “I’ll put money on the Scouser having to change his shorts after that.” Scrubbing my hands over my face, I pushed my hair back, and nodded shortly. “Right. Let’s go to work.”

I went to move past Casablancas, but stopped when his hand closed over my elbow. “You sure you’re okay?” he muttered, giving me a pointed look.

“Five by five, Jules,” I answered coolly, not missing a beat. “It’ll take more than a pissant in flashy shirts to rattle me.”

Casablancas continued to watch me closely. “It’s not the pissant I’m worried about.”

“The fuck you on about, mate?” I growled, shaking his hold off and reaching for my jacket on the back of a chair.

“I saw the way that pissant’s arm candy sauntered in. Saw him rattle you just fine, Cook. We all did.”

Of course Casablancas had noticed it - I hadn’t exactly kept my cool when my attention had wavered from Kane to Turner. “I’d forgotten about him,” I lied, shrugging my indifference. “There’s hardly a word about him, only pictures. I was-”

“Rattled?” Casablancas pressed.

I suppressed the urge to growl. I wasn’t an easy man to read, or to know, the bane of my existence I’m sure, but Casablancas knew how to work his way into cracks and use it to his advantage. “It’s nowt,” I replied breezily. “I’m here to do a job. We all are. So let’s cut the chit chat for now, yeah? You’ve got your duties for now. We’ll reconvene at lunch.”

+

“It ain’t even noon, laa.”

Alex inhaled sharply, startled by Miles’ muffled voice rising from beneath the duvet. With a mouthful of smoke from a joint he’d rolled, he coughed, and sputtered, and reached to put the burning thing down, but Miles was already sitting up and reaching for it.

“Here, baby,” he murmured, eyes gone soft with the haze of sleep. “Give us a taste.” He pried the joint from Alex’s fingers and took three quick hits, and then leaned into Alex’s warmth, and firmly pressed his mouth to Alex’s. Smoke curled into the kiss, and tongues, too, and Alex felt a warm ball of desire melt into his bones.

Miles drew back and let out a small puff of smoke with a lazy smile, which Alex returned. Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was the mood, the warmth, a combination of all three, or none of the above. All Alex knew was at that precise moment he felt present, and rather blissful. Without a word, he reached for Miles and kissed him once more, soft and flush and wet, fingers gripping the back of the Scouser’s neck for leverage. A quick move later, and Alex was in Miles’ lap, riding on sensation, and the definite buzz of a morning high. His hands tracked over Miles’ narrow shoulders, down his chest, across his pectorals, fluttering over lean flanks and tender muscle, careful to avoid the newly healed wounds. Miles still grunted, and sucked a quick breath between his teeth, but he didn’t stop Alex, and only encouraged him by holding the boy’s mouth against his, kissing him soundly.

Breaking the kiss with a moan and a gasp, Alex hastily reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head and tossing it aside before pressing himself against Miles once more. This was nice. This was familiar. Miles’ arms wrapped Alex’s torso, long, graceful fingers walking up his spine and circling around his hip, flirting with the waistband of Alex’s boxer briefs. Alex’s heart threaded madly, a desert hare caught in a jackal’s hold, and he blinked his eyes open to see Miles’ glittering, on the edge of gold and whiskey.

“Didn’t get yours last night, did ya, laa?” Miles whispered hotly, his hand already slipping down into Alex’s underwear.

Alex croaked, and bit his lip with a whimper as he realized that he was indeed hard, almost embarrassingly so, and so quickly, too. “Miles,” he whined, squeezing his eyes shut at the older man’s touch. Pressing his forehead to Miles’ jaw he rotated his hips to give his lover better access. He swallowed thickly, and then huffed as Miles fisted his cock and stroked firm and slow.

A threat bloomed at the back of Alex’s mind, born from the intimacy of the moment, and the stark contrast with that of the night before, but he pushed it away. This was different. This was not Homme. This was Mlies - _his_ Miles, not the thing that had bedded him last night. _He’d needed release_ , Alex reasoned. _It’d been too long_. He whimpered as Miles whispered heated words of encouragement and sped up, thumb slippery with the evidence of Alex’s arousal. Alex’s fingertips pressed into Miles’ shoulders, and his thighs tensed as he perched in Miles’ lap and chased the pleasing tingle that flared in his veins. 

“Gonna be my good boy?” Miles asked softly, pulling back to see Alex open his eyes and his mouth in want.

Once more, Alex dove for a kiss, which Miles readily accepted, and in the juicy tangle of lips, Alex pleaded, and moaned his need. “God, yes. Please, Mi,” Alex panted.

“Yeah?” Miles teased gently, squeezing harder, speeding his strokes up, his other hand settling on Alex’s tailbone, tilting the boy closer to him. “You’re like iron, Alex, c’mon an’ come.”

Alex couldn’t have stopped it if he wanted to - not then, not for all the money, cocaine, and expensive liquor in the world. When Miles did this for him - brought Alex off for the sake of bringing him off - it reaffirmed Alex’s reasons to stay with him. Miles took care of him, in all manner of ways. Whatever doubt or fears he’d had before seemed to melt away, bursting lazily from his body as he keened and whimpered against Miles’ neck.

Miles’ hand continued to squeeze Alex’s waning length, giving the younger man time to come down from his high, shushing the sudden rise of frantic breathing, and urgent kisses. 

“Mi,” Alex moaned, pulling Miles closer, tightening his grip. “Oh, god, Mi, I love you,” he said, feeling overwhelmed. “I missed you.”

Miles chuckled. “Course you did,” he replied. “Ain’t no one gonna touch you like that while I’m still breathing.” The hand on Alex’s back moved to catch his chin, and he cupped Alex’s face and tilted it so that he could look into those dark eyes. “No one but me, laa.”

The resolve in Miles’ voice twisted Alex’s guts, and he nodded quickly before burying his face into Miles’ neck once more. His eyes squeezed shut. “No one,” Alex gulped. “No one but you.”

+

Down in the security room, Jamie had commandeered Ford’s desk and spread the plans for the house out over the surface. With the red pen clutched in his right hand, he made note of cameras and mics, a smattering through the main floors, and the upper, the pool deck, and the garage and front drive, but frowned as he discovered nothing was wired for the lower levels. There were rooms indicated on the plans, but he’d not been privy to them during his quick tour that morning with Ford. Glancing to the screens on the other side of the room, he noted Fab and Valensi walking the perimeter once more, pausing to speak with Helders. Pulling out his phone, Jamie rang Valensi.

“What’s up, Cook?”

“Put Helders on for a second, will you?”

Jamie watched on camera as Valensi handed the device to Helders, who raised it and glanced right into the camera. “Cook.”

“Helders,” Jamie replied. “Ford’s fucked off somewhere-”

“Probably eating,” Helders sighed.

“Great, that doesn’t help me right now. I’m looking at plans for this place. The lower levels - what’s down there?”

“Eh, a bathroom, sauna, library, and... Mr. Kane’s private study and office.”

Jamie detected a note of hesitation. “And no security measures,” he added.

“The doors are kept locked,” Helders replied, albeit rather icily. “Not even housekeeping is allowed down there without an escort.”

“So anybody could just...waltz in,” Jamie muttered, more to himself. His gaze tracked along a hallway that led to what was clearly indicated at the grotto. “And the hallway leading outside? No cameras? No gates? Nothing?”

“No,” Helders snapped. “Nowt.”

“Why don’t you just leave the front door unlocked while you’re at it?” Jamie growled.

Helders glared into the camera. “You got something you wanna say to me, Cook?”

“I’ve got a few questions, yeah. Seeing as how you’re the only one competent on this two-man team, why don’t you come down here and walk me through how not having any security in place is a good idea?”

On screen, Helders scowled and held the phone out for Valensi to take, before he moved out of view, presumably to enter the home and take Jamie up on his offer.

“Are we still on perimeter duty?” Valensi’s voice came back, and he glanced up into the camera.

“Yes,” Jamie replied. “Start taking pictures and making notes of places to mount new camera equipment. I want the entire lower levels wired, and up and running by the end of the week.”

“Right,” Valensi sighed, nodding at the camera before ending the call.

It took less than ninety seconds for Helders to appear. When he did, Jamie dropped the expectant attitude - if he wanted his cooperation, he was going to have to give a little. After all, Helders wasn’t completely incompetent, and had taken a bullet for Kane. That told Jamie that Helders was at least serious about his job. He needed him on his side.

They started with a basic rundown of what was in place, and what he deemed to be most important to set in place right away: cameras, obviously, and more than just the one over the front door. Helders wanted a gate, too, and a fence, though he mentioned that Kane would be reluctant to give up the view of the beach, and afternoon sun.

“He can work on his tan with a full detail in place if it will make him stop complaining,” Jamie suggested wryly.

Helders snorted, but didn’t elaborate, and pulled out his phone to make a few notes. That was a good sign.

“What about Turner?” Jamie asked casually, marking off a few points on the plans and jotting down the places he’d need to call.

“Alex?” Helders replied.

Jamie shrugged, and glanced up. “Unless there’s another Turner in the house that I’m-”

“What about him?” His tone was cool.

“Is he prone to habit? Routine?” It was a common thing among the various companions of individuals Jamie had worked for. He knew Barat’s wife’s schedule from the moment she woke to the moment she crawled into their king-sized bed in their home in Nice. She’d lived a life of privilege, and seemed prone to the boredom that comes with it. Too exhausted to make a change, she became predictable, which was both good and bad - on the one hand the security detail knew where she was at any given moment. But on the other hand, so did anyone else with half a brain who was watching. Jamie had been extra cautious in his final months there, born more out of personal conflict than anything, but if anyone noticed, no one mentioned anything.

“He is. Or, he was, at least before…” Helders suddenly seemed to remember himself and his voice cut off abruptly.

“Before?” Jamie prodded cautiously.

He cleared his throat. “Before Miles was shot,” Helders came back, though he didn’t look like he was being one-hundred percent honest with his answer. Almost immediately he turned his attention to the plans on the desk.

Jamie filed it away and continued. “So he’s rather unpredictable now?”

“I suppose,” Helders frowned, and looked up. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, for starters, if he doesn’t keep a set schedule, he can’t be pinned down. That’s good.”

“So what’s bad?” Helders asked skeptically. His eyebrow went up with his question. “There’s always a bad with the good.”

Jamie nodded. “He’s going to need an escort anywhere he goes.”

Helders snorted, and rolled his eyes. “He won’t go for it.”

“Who? Kane, or Turner?”

“Alex.” Jamie made a mental note that Helders used the young man’s first name at every turn. Their relationship went beyond employer and employee, Jamie surmised, and the way Helders spoke of Turner only solidified that notion. There was fierce loyalty, which Jamie admired, but also a stark need to protect. 

Helders continued. “There’s no way in hell he’ll go for anyone following him around; he can’t stand answering to anyone save for Mr. Kane.”

“Then maybe Mr. Kane needs to position it.”

Helders bit his lip and took a moment to turn Jamie’s suggestion around in his head. “I’ll do it,” Helders said with a shrug. “I’m practically Alex’s shadow, anyway.”

Jamie hummed in reply, and he scribbled a few more notes down and glanced back to Helders. “There’s also the question of - wait, what is that?” He’d caught a glimpse of the monitor for the camera in the front courtyard. He could clearly see a Jeep parked there, and Fab and Valensi none-too-gently removing the driver.

Helders scowled at Jamie, and then turned to see what he was referring to. “Oh, fuck,” Helders groaned, already moving towards the door. “Do those two have any sense in their heads?” He growled.

“Do you recognize that vehicle?” Jamie inquired as he hustled after Helders.

“Yeah, it belongs to one of Miles’ closest friends - what the fuck do they think they’re doin?”

“Their job,” Jamie snapped. 

With another ‘fuck’ uttered under his breath, Helders peeled up the steps to the main floor, cut down the hall and made a dash for the front door before the situation outside could escalate.

+

“Al, darling, I’m going to have to get up eventually,” Miles softly stated.

“Mmm, no,” Alex pouted. He tightened his hold around Miles’ midsection as much as he dared, and tilted his face into Miles’ neck. “Joost a little longer, yeah?”

With a resigned sigh, Miles drew his fingers through the waves of Alex’s hair and gazed up at the ceiling, lazily going over what was on his agenda for the day. In truth he was reluctant to let go of the moment in favour of meeting with his new team, but the dull ache in his flank, and the itching of scars was a stark contrast to Alex’s gentle breath warmly feathering over his chest. Still, a few moments wouldn’t hurt. If he closed his eyes, he could almost go back to those first mornings when he’d wake with Alex wrapped around him like a creeping vine, clinging to him. They’d lazily roll around, maybe get high, fuck, sleep some more, warmth and silence and - 

“Miles! Miles, the fuck, get _down_ here!”

Miles’ eyes snapped open and he sat up, dislodging Alex from where he sprawled, and he cocked his head towards the door.

“You’re not going up there until you’ve been cleared by Mr. Kane-”

“Shut the fuck up, mate, I don’t need clearance - _Miles_!”

Miles groaned, and shoved the sheets back, and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. “The fuck is going on down there?” He muttered, reaching for a pair of loose-fitting lounge pants and sliding them on as he stood.

“Hmm? Is that-” Alex’s eyes widened at another colourful string of curse words, and he scrambled into action. “Zack!” He exclaimed, tugging his boxers and a t shirt on.

Miles was already out the door and marching down the hallway to where the staircase overlooked the front entrance. With Alex trailing behind him, Miles stopped, his hands curling over the railing, and took in the scene below.

Two of the new men, Fab and Valensi, held a third man between them, long blond hair wound up into a tight braid, his laissez-faire style of worn, holey jeans and a faded t-shirt belying the fact that this was Zackery Michael, head of operations in Washington and Oregon. While he struggled between the two newer men, Helders looked on, rather amused at the predicament. Cook seemed neutral, watching Zack struggle.

Before Miles could say anything, Alex was whipping past him, and thundering down the stairs.

“Alex, wait-” Miles called, following.

“Ease off, will you?” Alex growled, shoving Fab aside and glaring at Valensi. “Christ, he’s cool, he’s a friend.”

“Unannounced, and unknown to us,” Cook interjected.

Alex whirled, dark eyes flashing. “That don’t mean you can handle him anyway you please.” He looked back to Valensi. “Let him go.”

Cook raised an eyebrow at Alex’s outburst, but said nothing, and instead turned to Miles.

Miles grinned, and nodded swiftly. “It’s fine, he’s okay. This is Zack Michael. Zack, meet the new team.”

Zack huffed and yanked his arm free of Valensi’s hold, and then gave him a wary look. “Christ, Miles, you could have warned me that you’d finally upped your security game.”

Moving between Cook and Helders, Miles approached Zack and eyed him for a spell. “And you could have called first.”

Zack’s face split into a wide grin. “Like I know when I’m gonna be in town. You know me - I show up and bring the party!” He threw an arm over Alex’s shoulders and tugged the smaller man towards him, holding him tightly.

Alex smiled and gave a soft laugh, and wrapped an arm around Zack’s torso. “You’re always welcome,” Alex insisted, his gaze cutting to Cook for a split second. “Despite the welcome wagon. I’m certain this won’t happen again?”

Cook’s jaw tightened, but he merely nodded once. Then, he looked to Zack. “Apologies, Mr. Michael. Mr. Kane,” he continued, his attention moving once more. “There’s quite a bit to discuss in terms of the set up-”

“Ugh,” Miles groaned, waving Cook off. “Can it wait? It can wait,” he decided. “I need coffee.” Tugging Alex from Zack’s hold, he nuzzled the slighter man’s ear and let his hand drift down over the back of Alex’s boxers. “Lad’s insatiable, you know.” Winking at Zack, Miles chuckled and then gave Alex a gentle shove towards the stairs. “Go get dressed, love. We’ll have breakfast by the pool an’ take a look at what Cook here deems to be so important it can’t wait for Charlotte’s florentine omelette.”

+

“So, who’s who in the zoo?”

Alex looked up from where he was lacing his sneakers and glanced to Zack, seated beside him and doing the same. Breakfast aside, and Cook’s plans laid on the table after the dishes had been cleared, Alex decided that there were much more interesting things to do than sit around and discuss camera locations. Tennis, it seemed, suited his mood, and despite Zack’s protests the blond was currently dressed in white shorts and a t-shirt, a yellow terry-cloth headband bunched around his head in a semi-ironic fashion. Ever the poster boy for slackers, his aviator sunglasses were still present, and he was fishing a small joint from his cigarette pack, lighting it before taking a few hits.

“What?” Alex asked, accepting the joint and taking a toke.

“The new guys. Didn’t get much of an introduction beyond Cook - I take it he’s in charge?”

Alex shook his head, and passed the joint back to Zack. “Miles is in charge,” he corrected. “But Cook’s the head of the team.”

“How’s Matt taking that?”

Alex glanced across the tennis court to where the ex-boxer was stationed behind Miles, unmoving, save to crane his neck and crack it every now and then. “Good, I s’pose.” He shrugged. “Dunno. This is their first actual day. They joost arrived yesterday.”

Zack blew out another lungful of acrid smoke. “He works fast.”

“I guess that’s a good thing.” Alex looked to the table where Miles and Cook sat, both men bent over the plans, Cook pointing things out while Miles looked on, half-committed, nodding occasionally.

“Didn’t he work for Barat?”

Alex narrowed his gaze and nodded slightly. “That’s what I understand. All four of them,” Alex went on, nodding to where Fab and Valensi were prowling the perimeter of the yard. “That’s Fabrizio, there, with the dark hair. Valensi is the one with the vacant expression.” Scanning the yard, he spotted Casablancas duck from out of the pathway that led to the front. “And that’s Casablancas. I don’t mind him, actually. Seems like an okay fellow.”

“But the others…” Zack trailed off, pinching off the joint and standing, taking his racquet and stretching.

Alex snorted. “Fab and Valensi are idiots, as far as I know,” he muttered, remembering their rather childish antics at the pool that morning. Pleasant, but complete idiots.” He pulled the laces of his other shoe tighter and he fashioned a quick bow. “An’ you saw Cook.”

Zack shot him a sidelong glance. “You don’t like him?”

Alex paused, tucking his hair out of his face, and let his gaze find the man in question. There was something about his apparent rigidity, and his attention to detail, that spoke to Alex. The clean lines of his black-on-black apparel, and the ease in which he wore his gun, was a stark contrast to Miles, who was leaned back in his chair, ornate silk kimono open over lounge pants, all flash and flair.

“Al?” Zack ventured with a grin.

Alex roused from his perusal and scowled. “I don’t _know_ him,” Alex snapped, “and I don’t think I’d care to.” Grabbing his own racquet, he gestured to the court and followed Zack out, handing him a ball. “He seems to think he’s got me figured out. Let him be clueless, then,” Alex shrugged. “You can serve first.”

“Taking pity on me, Turner?” Zack laughed, moving into position on his side of the court.

“I’m gonna drive you into the ground, love,” Alex called back with a smile.

“Bet you say that to all the boys!” Zack hollered back, shimmying back and forth and bouncing the ball a few times.

“Just serve,” Alex groaned, rising to his toes and bouncing. “C’mon, Zackery!” He jeered. “I’ll take it easy on ya!”

“It’s not Wimbledon, you fuck!” Zack replied before tossing the ball up and swinging his racquet into it.

It was a light serve, and Alex easily returned it, causing Zack to launch into action with a lunge, barely clipping the ball. It sailed back, but at a wide angle, and ended up bouncing out of bounds.

“Wanna call that a warm up?” Alex chuckled, jogging to where the ball had rolled and bounced.

“ _No_ ,” Zack growled back.

“Okay, okay,” Alex chuckled. “Fifteen serving love, _love_.” He winked, and paced back to serve.

He proceeded with a vicious spike into Zack’s half that spun in the air and then detonated on the court, angling sharp and whizzing past Zack’s ear to bounce out of bounds.

Zack sputtered and threw a string of curses towards Alex, who merely chuckled and strode around in a circle, waiting for Zack. “Could you be so kind love, as to retrieve that for me?”

The other man muttered something else under his breath but chased the ball down, scooping it out from under a chair, and striding towards the net to hand it to Alex. He dropped the fuzzy, yellow sphere into Alex’s waiting palm and curled his lip playfully. “Thought I said to not take it easy on me?”

Alex cocked his eyebrow. “Thirty serving love,” he replied curtly.

Zack grinned and jogged back into place.

The next serve saw a fair rally, as Alex did actually hold back. With the sun blazing overhead, and his heart racing as he moved back and forth on the court, he felt himself smile for the first time in a long time. Zack always had a way of making him feel better - there was something about the other man that spoke to the impulsive side of him that had waned considerably since getting together with Miles. Miles liked his things in order, and he liked to be involved with all decisions. Whenever Alex got together with Zack, it was like being another person. 

The soles of their sneakers squeaked along the court, and there were a few grunts of exertion as they sent the ball back and forth over the net. Breaking into a sweat, Alex pushed himself and gave the ball one final _thwack_! that sent it sailing towards Zack, who had no choice but to dive out of the way with a startled cry.

+

The sudden shout drew Jamie’s attention up from the plans spread on the table, and he glanced towards the court where Turner and Michael were involved in a tennis match. It was more of an annihilation, really, with Zack sprawled on his side as the tennis ball rolled to a stop by his foot, and Turner let out a bark of laughter, that dissolved into giggles.

It was a stark contrast to what Jamie had witnessed earlier that morning. Something had breathed life into the young, dark-haired man who had skulked about the pool at dawn, and now he was smiling, bright and shining in the late morning sun. The smile itself was beaming, and Jamie found that he rather enjoyed the sound of that laugh. He also couldn’t help but notice the shorts, mid thigh and pristinely white, showing off lean muscle, the glow of a tan-

“Yeah, kill ‘im, baby!” Kane shouted from where he was seated next to Jamie. Next, he tucked a bony elbow into Jamie’s side. “You watchin? Alex is a fucking demon on the court.”

“Ah,” Jamie replied, non-committally, feeling his cheeks heat. He turned his attention back to the floorplan as Miles continued to chatter.

“You play?”

Jamie shook his head. “Not tennis, no.” He somehow managed to focus harder on the floorplans.

“What’s your game, eh? You look like you’re into somethin’.”

“Football,” Jamie murmured. “I’m thinking we’ll need to put cameras here and here,” Jamie continued, trying to steer the conversation back to the task at hand.

“Footie?” Miles persisted, leaning forward with genuine interest. “Yeah, I can see that. So, what, you played semi-pro? Pro? Let me guess, you got injured an’ it didn’t work out.” His machine-gun laugh followed. “That’s what happens I guess, eh? Look at Helders - coulda been a champ, but got knocked about, didn’t you, Matthew?” He craned his neck straight back and looked upside down at the man in question.

Helders didn’t say anything, his attention on the tennis match.

“So what’s your story, then?” Miles inquired, sitting upright and lighting a cigarette.

Jamie drew a breath and set his hands on the table. “Mr. Kane, with all due respect, we need to be serious here. Get this house in order - need I remind you that an attempt was made on your life not six weeks ago. You took six bullets. Someone _really_ wants you dead, and the fact that you’re sitting here now, breathing, tells me it’s only a matter of time before something like this happens again.”

Miles’ face drew in, his wide smile fading, and his jaw ticked as he turned a bit sullen. “Christ, ruin a mood, don’t ya? So fucking serious all the time.” When Jamie’s expression didn’t change, Miles scowled. He fiddled with his cigarette for a moment before waving a hand over the plans. “Do whatever you need to, then,” he grumbled. Dragging his hand over the short nap of his hair, he became agitated. “Whatever it takes.” He looked across the patio once more to where Alex and Zack were conversing at the net.

Jamie looked, too, this time from Miles to Alex. There was concern there, but it seemed displaced. Though he wore sunglasses, Miles’ expression left little doubt that he viewed Alex as a possession, something to be treasured, and brought out of the cabinet when needed. This, then, was perhaps Miles’ brand of love. Jamie had been in this life long enough to know how affections could work. Seeing his opportunity, Jamie breached the subject.

“We need to talk about Mr. Turner.”

Miles’ attention snapped to Jamie. Pulling his sunglasses off, he fixed Jamie with a hard look. “What about him?” he asked coolly.

Jamie drew a breath. “He’s going to need an escort wherever he goes.”

“You volunteering?” Miles asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Actually, Helders seemed a likely candidate-”

Miles’ phone began to ring, and he held up a hand for Jamie to hold his thought while he took the call.

With a resigned sigh, Jamie sat back and focused his attention on Alex and Zack once more. They’d started again, and if Jamie was keeping score correctly, this was the match point. Alex didn’t make Zack suffer long; the man with the long blond hair seemed to be winded, anyway. Soon after a final _thump_! and a string of sharp curses, Alex swung his racquet around and held it like a guitar, air-strumming as he tossed his dark waves back and forth. Approaching the net, he held his hand out to Zack, who shook it, and together they wandered off of the court, towards the table Miles and Jamie sat at.

His phone call ended, and Miles looked to Jamie once more. “Now, then. You were saying Alex needs a-”

“A what?” Alex drawled, sauntering around the table and moving between Jamie and Miles. 

Miles blinked up at Alex and smiled, and then reached for Alex’s hand and tugged the lad towards him. “A proper snog,” Miles grinned.

A gravelly giggle erupted in Alex’s throat, and he leaned down at Miles’ urging, pushing his mouth against the Scouser’s in a slow, deliberate kiss. The pair laughed quietly, fused in their moment, and soon the kiss became deeper, and definitely more urgent.

Jamie watched for a moment, and then found he was staring. Quickly glancing away, his eyes caught Zack’s, which were watching Jamie intently. Jamie cleared his throat and sat straighter, and picked up his pen again.

“You need a bodyguard,” Jamie announced a bit louder than necessary.

Breaking off with a wet sound, Alex licked his lips and shot Jamie a glare from where he stood over him. “Excuse me?” Blinking those large, dark eyes, he turned back to Miles with a pout. “Mi, a bodyguard? Really?”

Miles shrugged, and gestured towards Jamie. “Care to elaborate, mate?” 

For a moment, Jamie and MIles stared each other down, each willing the other to start talking. Jamie could go one route, be a dick about it, and tell Alex that having a bodyguard was his own idea, and that it was a safety precaution, but he knew that would only cause a rift between Miles and Alex. “Mr Kane,” Jamie began, “thinks it in your best interest, Mr. Turner. Your safety is a top priority.”

Alex shifted, looking uncomfortable. He took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest, pushing a thumbnail between his teeth.

“Al? C’mon, don’t pout,” Miles scolded. “I want you safe, baby, that’s all.”

Alex sighed, but moved around Miles to sit in the empty chair on his other side. “So what does it mean, then?”

“Someone is with you pretty much every time you step off of this property,” Jamie summed up.

“Seriously?” He groaned. “Miles, please, I don’t need a fookin’ babysitter-”

Miles rubbed his eyes. “You have a better idea?” He snapped.

Alex fumed, and sneered at Jamie before turning back to Miles. “Teach me how to use a gun.”

“Alex,” Miles groaned with a roll of his eyes.

“You said you would,” Alex pressed. “Before Chicago, you said you would. You said I needed to take care of meself, an’ that’s what I want.”

“I don’t recall you being this eager to learn,” Miles pointed out.

“I almost lost you,” Alex replied. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

Miles turned to Jamie. “What do you think?”

Jamie didn’t miss the way Alex scowled at Miles as Miles sought Jamie’s input. “It’s not my decision to make.”

Miles scoffed. “Well, you’re gonna be the one teachin’ him, Cook.”

“What?” Alex squawked. “No, Miles-”

“I’ve not got the time, laa.” Miles interrupted Alex’s sudden protest. “An’ if you’re not gonna have a bodyguard, as Mr. Cook here has suggested, then it’s the next best thing.”

“But-”

Miles’ phone went off again; a covert glance to the screen told Jamie it was an unknown number. Miles picked up, holding a hand up to Alex.

“Took you long enough,” Miles exclaimed, glancing at his watch. “I’m in the middle of brunch, but start talking.”

Silence crept over the table as Miles listened for a moment. “Well, maybe they just need a reminder of that. The city pays peanuts compared to Clarke.” Miles glanced up and found both Jamie and Alex watching him expectantly. “Hold on.” He put the call on hold and gave Alex a stern look. “Daddy’s got to take this, yeah? Go...play more tennis.

“Mi,” Alex sighed.

Miles made a face and waved towards the court. “Cook, you’re an athletic fellow. Give Zack a break here, we’ve got business to discuss anyway.”

“I’m not really-” Jamie began

“Look, if you’re good enough to train Alex to use a gun, you’re good enough to play tennis with him.” He glanced behind him and looked at Helders. “Have one of the girls bring a pair of sneakers up, will you?”

Jamie clapped his mouth shut and let out a breath. He’d done some questionable things in his line of work, up to and including escorting Barat’s wife to a dance recital for their seven year-old daughter when Barat couldn’t make it because of work - work being the murder of some small time arms dealer in Berlin - but he’d never been put to work as a distraction for an employer’s trophy wife.

He stole a quick glance of Alex.

Or arm candy.

Alex, for his part, seemed resigned with the fact he’d been dismissed once more, and merely sat with his arms crossed over his chest, bottom lip jutted out as he stared out onto the court, effectively avoiding Jamie’s gaze. Had he taken the time, Alex would have noticed how Jamie’s eyes strayed over his sullen, dark gaze, lingered on his collarbones exposed by the low v-neck of his t shirt, and swept down his arms to his lap, thighs, kneecaps, calves, and ankles. Once more, Jamie caught himself taking Alex’s features in one at a time, memorizing, familiarizing, something that was second nature for the job, really, that type of detailing. But the detailing wasn’t supposed to affect him like it was: Jamie couldn’t deny that despite the bratty behavior, Alex Turner was pleasing to the eye.

Somewhere behind Helders, a door slid open, and soon a pair of pristine, white sneakers appeared in the boxer’s hand. These he handed to Jamie with a smart grin. “Good luck,” he muttered.

Jamie snatched the shoes and set them down on the paved patio, and took his dress shoes off. He frowned at his thin trouser socks, and then a pair of white cotton anklets appeared under his face. “Took the liberty,” Helders informed him. “Don’t want you gettin’ blisters, mate.”

These, too, were yanked from Helders’ hand, and Jamie set about changing his socks, as well. “You got a pair of shorts there, too?” He muttered.

“Fresh out,” Helders quipped. “Though you might want to lose the shirtsleeves. And maybe the gun.”

“Right,” Jamie said, tying the laces of his sneakers before standing.

+

The sudden realization of Cook’s proximity made Alex’s head go up, and he watched the blond slip free from his shoulder holster before handing it off to Matthew. Then, he tugged the tails of his dress shirt from where they were tucked into smart, cashmere slacks. Cook’s hands were so different from Miles’ long, graceful fingers, and Alex watched as the no-nonsense digits began to unbutton the black shirt, finally peeling it back to reveal a black, cotton vest beneath. Cook was lean, with compact muscles bulging beneath the lightly tanned skin, and dark blond hair curled over that which Alex could see of his pectorals. He was trim in all the right places, too; it was obvious he took care of himself, from the breadth of his shoulders, the span of his chest, and the tapered hips.

“Alex!” Zack called out suddenly, pulling the man from his silent perusal of Cook.

He glared at Zack, cheeks heating, and then managed to steal another glimpse of Cook, this time of his face, noting the rugged good-looks and classic handsome features. Suddenly, cool blue eyes flickered into Alex’s gaze, and Alex let out a small breath he didn’t realize he was holding. There was a swelling in his guts, warm and foreign, but not wholly unwelcome. It made his limbs feel pleasantly heavy.

“We doin’ this?” Alex heard himself ask in a lazy tone.

Cook shrugged and gestured to the court. “After you.”

Alex snorted, and then sauntered back to the court, his racquet balanced on his shoulder.

“Hey, Cook,” Zack hollered.

Both Alex and Cook looked back, and Zack threw the tennis ball at Cook, who caught it one-handed. “Watch out for his backhand.”

Cook raised an eyebrow and looked back to Alex. “That so? Thought it looked a little girly.” He tossed the ball up once and caught it, challenging Alex with a glance.

The dark-haired man scoffed. “I’ll let you serve,” he sneered.

“Don’t do me any favours, Turner,” Cook called back, lobbing the ball at Alex before he moved into position.

Alex snatched the ball from the air and narrowed his eyes at his new opponent. Words were useless at this point; Alex floated the ball upwards, cocked his arm back, and delivered a vicious serve that screamed over the net, trajectory set for Cooks’ head. Cook had little time to react, but managed to sidestep it and thrust his racquet out and send the ball back with a quick snap of his wrist. Alex pounced into action, and the rally was in play.

Amid the grunting and the straining, a small crowd began gathering, namely Casablancas, Fab, and Valensi. They went unnoticed by both Alex and Cook, who instead seemed hell bent on peeling the fuzzy finish back on the ball all while throwing themselves into the game with wild exertion. 

Alex fumed, both indignancy and embarrassment fuelling his movements. Cook might think he was not much more than a pretty face, but he’d make that scruffy fucker eat his sneaker soles before he was through with him. He dove quick, and sharp, and flicked his wrist, cracking the ball back over the net at a steep downward angle. Cook dove with his racquet extended, but he was half a second too late, and the ball connected with the court.

There was a collective groan, and much booing and hissing as Cook recovered. Alex smirked as he watched Cook glare at his team, who had assembled along the edge of the court.

“C’mon, Cookie, show this kid who he’s up against!” Valensi crowed with a broad grin, bending to pick up the ball which had rolled to a stop at his feet.

Alex cocked his head as Cook growled. “Put a cork in it, Valensi,” the blond warned.

It was too late. Alex caught the ball Valensi threw him, and he looked back to his opponent. “Yes, by all means, _Cookie_ ," Alex jeered, "show me what you’re made of.” He swaggered back behind the serving line and smiled wanly. “Fifteen-love.”

Cook threw Alex a two-fingered salute and shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet, watching Alex’s shoulders as the man went through the motions of another serve. It wasn’t as vicious as the first one, but it was still stealthy, and Jamie was ready for him. Sprinting to where the ball connected, he executed a smooth backhand that pushed the ball a scant half inch above the net, in a straight line just beyond Alex’s reach. The edge of his racquet snagged it, but the angle merely sent the ball skewed, and it careened out of bounds. Alex made a sound of disgust and swiped at his hair, which was clinging to his forehead where he’d begun to sweat.

“Deuce,” Cook called smugly, jogging towards the ball. “Might wanna up your game, love. Maybe tie them pretty curls back?”

The look Alex shot him in reply was swift, ruthless and penetrating. He said nothing, however, and waited for Cook to serve instead.

This time, Alex he was ready for it. It was a lofty serve, none of the mustard that had been present before, and if Cook was taking it easy on Alex, then he was sorely out of line. Alex sent the ball right back, this time cutting it with vicious accuracy so that it slammed into the outside of Cook’s left thigh when he turned to deflect. It made a sharp _thwap_! as it pounded against muscle, and the grunt of pain emitted by Cook made Alex smile cruelly.

“Thirty-fifteen,” he chirped with mock sweetness. “Perhaps you’d like to take a breather, old man?” 

Cook snagged the ball from where it lay off court, and he marched to the net, his blue eyes dark and flashing. Alex met him at the dividing line, his chin pointed up, his eyebrows knitted with a snarky demeanor. 

“Old man?” Cook huffed, his fingers curling around the ball clutched in his grasp.

Alex pouted. “Awww, did I strike a nerve? What’s wrong, Cookie, can’t keep up? Been on the sidelines for too long?”

Cook’s jaw tightened and he thrust the ball out towards Alex. “Keep flapping your jaw like that and I’m sure Mr. Kane will find good use for it.”

It was Alex’s turn to snap his mouth shut, and he tore the ball from Cook’s hand before marching back behind the service line. Cook went to his own quadrant and waited for service. 

“Time!” Zack suddenly called out, swerving onto the court with a bottle of water aimed at Alex. He threw his arm around the brunet and steered him off of the court.

Cook growled. “There’s no time out in the middle of a tennis game-”

Zack threw the middle finger up over his shoulder as Alex pried the bottle from his other hand, and took a few healthy sips, and prowled back and forth at the sidelines, sending a frosty glare at Cook.

With a huff, Cook threw his hands up in the air and moved to his own bench where Casablancas had appeared with water as well.

“Shit, he’s not pulling any punches, is he?” Casablancas pointed out, rather curious at the nature of Alex’s gaze. “The fuck did you say to him?”

Cook merely grunted and swallowed more water, watching Alex’s slinky-hipped pacing across the way.

“Cook?” Casablancas asked slowly, recognizing the stubborn set of his partner’s jaw.

“I’m fine,” Cook retorted, shoving the bottle back into Casablanca’s hand. Rolling his neck around his shoulders, Cook moved back onto the court and gave Alex an expectant look.

“This fucker’s going down,” Alex muttered to himself. He fingered the ball he’d stashed in the pocket of his shorts.

Alex served once again, and it turned into a vicious rally. Both he and Cook dove to and fro, slamming the ball in their apparent aggression, growling as they lunged, faces contorted as they did so. Sweat lined their brows, beaded on foreheads and dripped down the bridges of noses as their respective fans cheered them on.

Finished with his phone call, Miles’ attention was drawn with a sudden, familiar sounding gasp of exertion, and he stood from the table as he watched Alex move about the tennis court with razor-sharp reflexes. Cook was lagging, and the sight made Miles grin. He suddenly realized that he hadn’t seen Alex this animated in months. Whether it was the game itself, or the physicality of it, Miles wasn’t certain, but seeing the young man so competitive, and rather combative made Miles’ blood heat, and quicken in his veins. Their morning interlude had been rather welcome, Alex being both responsive and eager to take. It really had been too long, Miles determined. 

When Alex executed a smart return to Cook, and Cook missed, Alex couldn’t contain himself, and he tossed his racquet aside and put his hands up, mocking Cook’s defeat. “Best two out of three?” He jeered.

Miles cut towards the tennis court, and sauntered onto the playing surface, his slippers shuffling and the tail of his kimono sailing behind him. He approached Alex and caught the boy unawares with both hands framing his face, and then pulled him into a kiss, not caring about the sweat, only the taste of victory on Alex’s tongue.

For a second, Alex sputtered, and seemed to freeze, but then he was giggling against Miles’ mouth, his own hands sliding over the short crop of Miles’ hair. Humming lowly, Alex pulled away and raised an eyebrow. “What was that for?”

“Because I could,” Miles replied smugly. “Now, how about we forget the match, and hit the showers? Hmm?”

Alex made a sound in his throat, and stole a quick glance of Cook from over Miles’ shoulder. The blond seemed disinterested for the most part, and was already off the court, toeing the sneakers off.

Looking back at Miles, Alex grinned and nodded. The thrill of competition, and his subsequent defeat of Cook, ran through his skin like electricity. Everywhere Miles touched him seemed to send a shock of thrill right to the spot behind his navel. His laughter turned gravelly as his eyes darkened. “Take me upstairs,” he breathed. “And waste the day with me?”  
Miles licked his lips and nodded, and then closed his hand around Alex’s wrist. “Good game, Cook,” Miles offered hastily as he tugged Alex behind him. “I’ll be indisposed for the remainder of the day.” He gave Alex another yank in the direction of the house, and the dark-eyed man stumbled a bit, but soon gained his footing.

Alex threw one more look at Cook before he disappeared into the house, and felt his elation deflate a tiny bit. There was a peculiar frown on Cook’s face, one of resignation, and concern, and Alex opened his mouth to say something, but the eagerness of Miles’ movement overshadowed the moment, and together two of them raced up the stairs, Alex’s sweaty tennis clothes littering the steps as they went.

+

Alex stretched lazily where he was laid out beside Miles, and he smiled at the sound of the other man groaning in the aftermath of a mind bending orgasm. Alex had more or less pounced on Miles as soon as they’d hit the bedroom, and ridden the older man right into the mattress.

“Christ, Alex, maybe I should have you play tennis more often,” Miles sighed, his hand wandering over the sweat-drenched skin of his chest before he managed to find Alex’s hand. Picking it up, he hummed and pressed a kiss to the knuckles of graceful digits, and then tucked said hand against his chest possessively.

“There is something to be said about healthy competition.”

Miles barked with a laugh. “Alex, you _killed_ him. Dragged him all over the court.” He snorted. “ _Pfft_. What the fuck kinda nickname is ‘Cookie’ anyway? Saw his sorry ass crumble quick enough.”

Alex sighed and smiled, closing his eyes and relived the last moments of the game. Echoes of Cook’s grunts, and flashes of Cook’s face, Cook’s muscles straining, sweating, stretching - Alex jerked involuntarily as his thoughts bombarded him. “Yeah,” he croaked cautiously. “I did.”

“Mmmm, me lit’l annihilator,” Miles hummed. He reached for Alex when the phone rang, causing both men to groan.

“Don’t answer it,” Alex pleaded, lifting his head and imploring Miles with his dark, wide-eyed gaze.

Miles smiled ruefully and glanced at the name flashing on the phone screen. It was Helders. With a growl, Miles answered it. “I thought I said no interruptions.”

Alex sighed and flopped back to the bed, the mood rapidly depleting. Just once he’d like a day with Miles where there were no phone calls, no visitors, no meetings, no shop talk. He used to have that, back when they’d first gotten together, and the urge to climb higher hadn’t bitten Miles yet. Reaching a hand out, Alex swiped his fingertips down over Miles’ ribcage, slid them across his belly to circle the slight bump of his navel, and comb through the springy dark hair that surrounded Miles’ cock. Here he tugged gently, flicking his eyes to Miles’ face as he sought attention.

Miles’ thin lips pressed into a hard frown, and he caught Alex’s wandering fingers and pushed him aside as he sat up. “Shit,” he muttered. “I forgot. No, I’d rather do it now. Tell him I’ll be right down.”

Miles hung up and rolled to his side, propping himself on an elbow and threading his fingers through Alex’s hair. “Love,” he said gently. “I know I said we’d spend the afternoon together,” and he he paused and dragged his gaze down Alex’s naked frame, “so this is killing me,” he finished with a humorless chuckle. “I arranged a meeting this afternoon - one that normally I’d reschedule, but it needs to be dealt with immediately.” He kissed Alex soundly, and then moved off of the bed.

Alex sat up, running his fingers through his hair and smoothing it down as he watched Miles move to the closet and pull out slacks and a crisp, white shirt.

“Who is it?” Alex asked softly.

“Laa?” Miles replied, poking his head out of the closet.

“Your meeting - who’s it with?”

Miles frowned. “Jesse Hughes,” he answered, ducking back into the closet and dressing hastily.

Alex gulped and sat straighter. “Hughes?” He echoed softly. That was the man he’d met coming out of Clarke’s after their initial meeting. He hand’t liked the look of him then, and Miles’ mention of the name set his guts twisting. “What’s he need to see you for?” Alex asked when Miles finally emerged, a little tired-looking, but well dressed as usual.

“Mm, nothin’ important, laa. Just some loose ends to tie up after Homme left, yeah?”

Bile rose in Alex’s throat and he began to tremble. “Oh?” he croaked.

“He’s probably looking for a new paycheck. He’s shady as fuck, laa, but he’s got connections.” He paused and looked at Alex. “You all right?”

“Hmm,” Alex nodded, caught in a sudden maelstrom of his thoughts.

“Look, it shouldn’t take too long. Get up, get dressed, find Zack, go get into trouble, yeah?” Miles sank to the mattress and leaned in, brushing his lips over Alex’s. “But not too much. Daddy doesn’t want to have to spank you.” He grinned, and winked.

Alex smiled as strongly as he could. “F’course, babeh,” he breathed, his heartbeat hammering. 

“Mmm, such a good boy for me, aren’t you? Don’t stay away too long.” With another kiss, Miles was gone out the door, and Alex let loose a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Miles meeting with Hughes only meant trouble, Alex was certain. It had practically rolled off of Hughes the first time Alex had encountered him. But Alex was helpless and Miles was already gone. Once more he’d been dismissed, a mere inconvenience he was certain. He slowly fell back to the mattress and curled onto his side, shaken by his own doubts and fears.

+

I needed out, and Zackery succeeded in staging an illusion: I’ve slipped my collar, and the man left in charge of me is the furthest thing from my mind.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

This is LA, baby, nightlife and highlife, neon bandits in topless cars searching for their next heist. Got a gun, gonna pull that trigger, flare to life and burn brighter than the sulphur on the strip. There’s coke in my veins, liquor on my tongue, and my sundance kid by my side, steering that steel steed heedlessly. West winds blow kisses on my heated skin; we’ve danced and drank and done terrible things I’m sure, but we are untouchable in this moment. From a distance, I see my hand open and sweep over the current running along side us, and things flicker like a flimstrip left to run long after the theatre has closed out. I’ve asked Zack to take me back, not to the house, but to the boardwalk, to roots and rubble, to cheap beer and too many faces, the spandex squeeze, sequined lust, too much lipstick, tears caged behind caked on faces. It all collides, and pulses, and I feel it on the breeze, curling my fingers, laying them flat, a makeshift spoiler cutting up and down depending on the music floating out of the speakers. 

Zack pulls the car over and kills the engine. I am still adrift on a current somewhere between the bump and the bourbon, and the smooth sailing. “Have we berthed?” I ask lazily, eyes cracking open to sweep the port he’s chosen. The local flavour is varied, and I grin before I dig into the pocket of my black suit jacket and find the vial where my white knight is stabled.

“Your destination, my lord,” Zack snickers before pulling himself up and over the driver’s side door like he’s an extra from Miami Vice. “Venice Beach, in all its freakish appeal.” He spread his arms and inhaled, and then sought a cigarette from his jeans, lighting it as he came around to the passenger side

“Hush,” I snap, having a bump and coughing. “There,” I croak, pointing to The Brickyard. “Sustenance awaits us, Zackery. And darts.”

“Haven’t you had enough of beating people into the ground today?” He asked, fumbling the door handle before he finally unlatched it for me. “My Liege,” he announced, bowing deeply and opening the door, stumbling a bit as he did so.

“Fook me, Zack, you’re a shite footman.” But then again, my feet refuse to really cooperate with me at the moment, too. Falling into a palm tree, I curl one arm around it and hold on tightly as Zack howls, and then passes me his cigarette. “Shut up, dick’ead,” I sniff, taking a few deep pulls on the cigarette. “C’mon. To answer your question, no, I haven’t had enough of beating people into the ground. You,” I explain, “were the warm up. ‘Cookie’,” and I pause and roll my eyes at the nickname, “was me white whale.”

“Isn’t that a metaphor for the ultimate goal?” Zack asks as I lead him towards The Brickyard.

“Pssshhht,” is my eloquent reply, paired with an airy wave of my hand. “C’mon,” I urge, crooking my finger. “Pizza, Zack.”

He can’t argue, not with the night we’ve had so far - we are running full tilt on bellies full of booze, and the prospect of melted cheese on bread seems to surpass any other desire at the moment. We stumble into the open air cafe and saunter to the takeout counter, humming and hawing over the menu board.

With slices of jalepeno pineapple pizza and a pair of import beers, we weave through the tables and chairs set up towards the sidewalk, and opt for a bench that overlooks the asphalt cutting along the beach. Ordinarily it’s a horrendous combination of toppings, but on a cocaine high, everything and anything is acceptable, as long as it fills the ache in your stomach between bumps. Chewing and chugging for a spell, when we’ve finally slowed down enough to breath and not shovel food into our faces, Zack lights a cigarette and burps softly before draining his beer.

“Hold this,” he says, handing me the cigarette. “I need another beer. Maybe another slice. You want?”

“Beer, yes. Pizza,” and I pause and grimace, shaking my head. “No. Joost the beer, thank you, Zack.”

He disappears, and I lean back against the bench, arms draped over the back, leg crossed ankle over knee.

Noise takes a backseat to my thoughts. The day has been a lifetime; the night before a nightmare itself, so far away and so unfamiliar that if I close my eyes, I have a hard time believing it happened.

I’m becoming quite adept at those moments, really. In a moment of clarity and sunshine that afternoon, I remember quite well the hiss of the ball, the squeal of sneakers on the court, the roughness of Cook’s grunt, the flash in his blue eyes, the way he just didn’t give a fuck about me, or who I was, who I fucked, or got fucked by. He just wanted to win, maybe, or maybe he was catering to my whims because Miles pays him. _Does that make him my whore, like I am Miles’?_

The thought jars me and I snap upright on the bench, sound suddenly swarming me. A shrill laugh. A shout, a car horn, music blasting, and I close my eyes against the array of lights flashing on the beach.

 _Fucking whore_.

The guttural spewing of the insult sets my molars into my tongue and I force my eyes open as that laugh - Homme’s laugh - is in every tremor under me skin.

A twitch, a habit and a whim, and I’m patting down me pockets again, pitching aside the last inch of Zack’s cigarette so that I can force another substance into my veins. It’s easier than forcing the truth.

I’ve barely dipped my finger in, gotten that cherry-sweet and chemical twist on my tongue, when Zack comes back, two bottles caught in his knuckles while he balances a plate with two more slices of olive and pepperoni pizza stacked on top with his other hand. I sniff again, and shiver, give him a sneer and a wet kiss on his cheek before accepting the beer and swallowing half in one go. Cocaine makes me thirsty, and it makes me itchy, and soon enough, my knee is bouncing as the breeze flits the ends of my hair and sends them sticking to the corners of my dry mouth.

I sputter, and swipe at the mess, and almost miss Zack’s next words as they’re rolled around a mouthful of pizza.

“Wot?” I blink and wonder if it’s my hearing, and not the jaw-cracking mastication that’s making him difficult to understand.

Zack swallows a mouthful of beer and grins, before laughing at my bewildered state. “Didn’t you notice?”

My back goes ramrod straight at the question. Notice what? What had I missed? Had I said something? Done something? Panicked sweat sweeps my body like wildfire and my guts plunge, wet and cold, and Zack’s face screws up in confusion.

“Alex?”

My bottom lip trembles and I feel my eyes bugging out of my skull.

“Ease up, man, I don’t think Miles saw anything. Whisked you away fast enough to stake a claim.”

“Zack?” I ask cautiously.

“I mean, Cook was practically undressing you with his eyes on the spot.”

It’s sort of like sea water rushing into a hole dug into the sand, that sucking, wet sound, and my mind snaps back, sluggish and just as slimy. “The fuck you talking about?” I rasp.

“Cook. The new guy? Jamie? What did you call him - 'Cookie'?” Zack’s smile is teasing, and he winks. “He’s fit, if you’re into that. He seems to think you’re a bit of all right, Alexander.”

“I…” I scowl and shake my head. “He’s…no, that’s…not…” I trail off, shaking my head once more, even as another quick shuffle of polaroid memories slip through my mind: Cook grinning, cracking a joke, even laughing. Jamie. Blond hair dark with sweat and sticking to his forehead, his cheeks red, shoulders bunching with every move.

“Yeah,” Zack snickers. “that’s what I thought.”

The wind flicks my hair into my face and once more I swipe at it, my dewy fingers getting snared. I growl and set my beer down before running both hands through the length of it and holding it tightly at the back of my head, pulling so hard that I wince.

“I swear I’m gonna cut this off.”

“No, you’re not,” Zack points out, finishing his beer and standing with the empty plate. He takes a few steps and pitches the mess into a bin before looking back to me. “What would Miles say?”

My nose wrinkles. “I don’t care,” I mumble sullenly.

“Right,” Zack answers wryly. “You don’t do anything without Miles’ permission.”

I make a sound of disgust, but really, I can’t argue with his statement. Even when I do protest, I somehow end up acquiescing to any and every demand Miles makes. Once I thought it heavenly to give up control, to let someone else make all the hard decisions. Now I know the delicacy of that surrender, and how it can backfire horribly.

“Maybe it’s time I did,” I say more to myself, than anything else.

“Hmm?” Zack asks, pulling his attention from where he’s watching people wander up and down the sidewalk.

I stand and twist the toes of my loafers into the course sand dusting the cement. “Forget it. Let’s walk. I need to move.” Upright, heart pounding, head swimming, it’s the truth - me limbs are twitching.

We are spectators out here, watching the sea of people who wear everything from bathing suits to business suits, two pieces, three pieces, all hoping to be seen, and perhaps to watch at the same time. Are there people looking at me? Certainly. My skin is crawling as if it’s the case, and I grab Zack’s hand and pull him into a storefront for a moment, sweat dappling my face. At ease with his ragged jeans and vest from some crappy bar in Melbourne, he looks the part out here. I drag my sweating palms down the front of my suit jacket, and then lean against the glass with a sigh.

Zack gently nudges me with his elbow a few moments later, and I manage to crack an eye open and answer him with a grunt.

His green eyes are wrought with more mischief than usual, and he doesn’t say anything, but merely directs a pointed glance to a small sandwich board sign resting on the sidewalk. Quirking an eyebrow, I follow his line of sight.

“Feeling rebellious, Turner?”

The fates, those three wicked crones, laugh, and cause the wind to ruffle my hair once more. I shove a hank of it behind my ear and wonder if this isn’t a sign.

On impulse, my hands find Zack’s face, and I pull him towards me, and kiss him soundly on the lips, saying goodbye to myself, perhaps. When I pull away, he’s stunned, but he must see something in my eyes akin to resolve, for he smiles slowly, and a bit more wickedly, and then opens the door to the barber’s shop.

+

The man wielding the scissors speaks very little English, but what I can glean is that he’s from eastern Europe somewhere, Romania perhaps, and that he has at least two children and a robustly charming wife, as depicted by the pictures stuck to the bottom edge of the mirror I’m facing. His name is Toma, and he is a lively fellow with dark hair, dark eyes, and a wolfish grin that makes me feel quite comfortable, and yet on alert.

Through our broken communication we’ve come to a compromise. When I’d indicated for him to take it all off, he’d frowned, shook his head remorsefully, and then drew his fingers back through my hair almost reverently. It made my hackles rise, and I shifted in the chair. 

“Al?” Zack had murmured from where he slouched in an empty seat beside me.

“Like this,” Toma indicated, pulling a longer lock from where he was holding the length in his fist and pulling it down next to my face. “Here,” he declared, marking a point with his finger. The length was still below my eye, but it would certainly take the bulk of it off.

I nodded, and my Romanian barber set to work, picking up a spray bottle to dampen my hair. He pulled a comb through to section it off, securing it here and there with small clips. The entire effect made Zack snicker and snap a few pics off on his phone, and I threatened him bodily harm if he ever showed anyone.

Then, Toma began to cut.

+

Eyes closed, I drift in the chair, lulled by the gentle movements of Toma, and the satisfying, crisp sound of shears slicing my hair. Zack says nothing, and is most likely texting with someone that he knows, looking for the next party at the next bar. There’s a gentle tug to my hair, and then Toma’s fingers press to the base of my skull as he drags the comb down through my hair with his other hand.

“Holding breath?” I hear him ask in his heavy accent.

“Hmm?” I don’t open my eyes, but he chuckles.

“Breathe! Is only hair!”

I take a sudden breath and find my lungs are burning - how long had I been sitting without breathing? Blinking my eyes open, I take in the tips of my shoes visible just beyond my knees which are draped with a nylon cape. There are dark curls of my hair already littering the floor, and as I focus harder, a sudden, flashing burn of panic rises in my throat.

The slate tiles used in Toma’s shop are identical to those in Miles’ office. My fingers tighten where they clasp the arms of the chair, and I must jerk at the realization because Toma clicks his tongue and mutters, “Don’t move, please.”

Just looking at the tile is enough to drag at my memory, and the skin over my spine tingles as it remembers how cold that floor was pressed against it. I suck in another startled breath and jerk away from a clear snip. My vision swims as I stare down at the tile.

_After that first time, I thought he was done. I thought he’d been satisfied, having broken me over Miles’ desk in the most terrible way, and leaving me to slump to the floor. That’s what I remember, clinging to the leg of Miles’ desk, but that wasn’t it, that wasn’t the end. It was no where close._

“Alex?”

I blink at Zack’s voice and look up, finding my reflection pale and wan, dark circles under my eyes stark against the sweating skin.

“Jesus, Alex are you okay?”

_”You okay, baby? Hmm? Did I hurt you?” Homme chuckles as he watches me curl onto my side beneath Miles’ desk, trying to shrivel and disappear. “Don’t tell me Kane’s never been heavy handed with a smart-mouthed little bitch like you.”_

_Homme’s large, meaty hand slaps around my ankle and pulls, and I scream hoarsely for him to leave me alone._

_“You are alone Alex, alone in this house, in this life. Miles can’t save you. I’m your only safe port in this storm. Don’t you see that? Miles is only going to get you killed. Such a waste, really.”_

_His hands are turning me, despite how I claw at the seams of the slate tile. The raw state of the stone scrapes over my back; when I see the marks later, I’ll have no recollection of how they got there. He’s got me by the legs now, gripping my thighs and leaving more bruises. Looming over me, a hand planted by my head, he looks down the length of my body and grins. It turns my guts, and I try to pull my legs closed and curl up again._

_“Shhhh,” he mocks, bringing a hand down to touch the stinging cut on my face - I’ve forgotten about it but now the pain blooms full force, rich and itching, and I wince and shy away with a pathetic whimper. “I’m sorry about that, Alexander, but it was for your own good, hmm?” He curls a hand through my hair, pushing it behind my ear, but he doesn’t let go. He tugs, and tightens his hold until my scalp burns and I see stars. My neck arches, mouth opened in a silent scream as he reaches between us and finds that I’m ragged, and bleeding._

Another stark _snick_! More inches fall to the ground and I look at myself in the mirror.

_I gasp and look up to the ceiling and am faced with my own sickening fragility. Homme looms, eclipsing my weakness with a hulking frame, and I am torn between watching my face and watching his. An echo of a conversation blares to life, my bewildered question posed to Miles: “Why the fuck do you need a mirror on the ceiling?”_

_At the time, at the very beginning, he’d replied, “Aesthetic,” and then proceeded to show me all the things I’d been hiding from as he laid me out on the desk and fucked slow, and true._

_Homme goes deeper than the truth with the first thrust, down to the marrow, beyond the illusion, and I didn’t think it possible to hurt anymore than I already was. He shushes me with a perverted leer, lips pursed in a gentle ‘o’ as he rises above me, hand on my hip, pulling me to meet another brutal plunge of his cock in my ass. I cry out loud at the impact; tears track my cheeks freely, they mix with blood, and snot, and nervous sweat. The palms of my hands press uselessly against the tile as I try to push away. Bare heels give me no traction, and Homme lunges again, pushing his mouth to mine as the short hairs on his belly press and scrape over my flaccid length. There is nothing desireable about this second time, not even in that sick, fascinating, humiliating way of the first round. I am used, and used again, trying desperately to hold onto something that seems so far away. I’m losing myself. I’m-_

“You can’t smoke in here,” I hear a heavily accented voice cut into the horror film of my mind.

“Alex - hey, Alex?”

The movie real flickers and I see Zack staring at my reflection, a cigarette burning where it’s clutched in his knuckles. 

“Yeah?” I answer slowly, not sure where I am.

He laughs nervously, ignoring how Toma waves the smoke away with a frown. “You okay?”

I open my mouth to reply, but I make no sound and find myself staring into the mirror again.

“Yeah, Zackery,” I drone. “M’fine. S’joost a haircut.”

Another flash of the steel shears, a lock of hair floats to the ground. It may as well be a limb, my name, my dignity. I roll my shoulders and lean away from Toma’s clipping for a moment, looking back to the mirror.

_The fear in my eyes makes me sick, makes me shake all over, and that only proves to make Homme more enthusiastic, his hips hammering against me, rattling my bones, and my guts. Each thrust makes me croak, and cry out, which only serves to strengthen Homme’s sickness. I gulp, choking back another sob - the pitiful, mournful cry of my protests make him work harder for that end, and I refuse to fuel his fire any further._

_Small, helpless Alexander, flat on his back, victim to it all, begins to cry, and Homme laughs at him, slapping a hand to his thigh, “I’ll give you something to cry about, Turner.”_

_Little Alexander, frail and fragrant, flimsy in his folly, flails uselessly, batters weak fists into Homme’s shoulders, claws, spits, howls with the indignant grace of a pup still with his milk teeth._

_“Just a pair of holes to fuck. Trust me, Alexander, if you had a cunt, I’d fuck you there, too.”_

_Helpless, weak-winged Alexander huffs and flails, but Homme has him right where he wants him._

_“Gonna give you something to cry about,” he repeats on a growl. The record skips, along with the picture, and I can’t look away. “Gonna give you something to think about, to dream about, to **scream** about, baby.” And those thick, malicious fingers snare all that dark hair and hold the boy steady, unwilling to let him look away. “You hot, little bitch,” Homme sighs before he tenses and comes with a nauseating moan._

_Alexander goes limp, still unable to process the moment. I watch, declare the boy used up, and so close to death, it’s pathetic to let him suffer any longer._

“Alex, you’re starting to scare me-”

“Keep cutting,” I snap, sucked to the surface to meet both Zack’s and Toma’s concerned gazes in the mirror. “I’m fine.” I lean and snatch the cigarette from Zack’s hand and wedge it into the corner of my mouth, which is pressed into a grim line. Saliva fills my mouth as I narrow my eyes, tracking the completely visible features of my face. My eyes are too wide to have not seen everything.

I can’t hide anymore.

_Homme lurches to his feet, tucking himself into his pants, bloody, spent seed and all. When his belt his buckled, he prods Alexander’s unmoving body with the toe of his shoe while he smoothes his hands back over his hair with a sneer._

_“Not bad, Turner,” he chuckles. “I can see why Miles keeps you around.” He runs his tongue over his teeth and grimaces, working the spit around until he’s got enough to spit on Alexander’s tear-streaked face. “Taste just like a whore, don’t you? Cheap, and used.” He chuckles, turns on his heel, and disappears, leaving the boy for the crows._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to Stanzie for helping me see this through. It were a hellish month, but you made all the difference, girl. #alexatomyalex

The restlessness drags at Jamie’s bones as sleep dodges his clutches once more. With a sigh, he rolls to his back and opens his eyes. The reflection of the pool’s surface flutters over the ceiling in a ripple of blue, and it makes something inside of him twist. With a deep breath, he closes his eyes, and meets another set, these ones just as blue as his.

 _Katie_.

The name echoes in his body, curls warmly in his veins, and he takes another breath, blinks, and suddenly, those eyes darken, the lashes lengthen, and they blink slowly. It only makes Jamie’s heart rate increase, and he scowls, rearranging his fantasy again.

 _Katie_ , he reminds himself, _think o’Katie_. Blue eyes come back to him, the flash of dynamite in a smile, the fall of soft, long, blonde hair.

 _Dark waves swing over sullen features_.

Inhaling sharply, Jamie growls, frustrated, and drags his hands down his face. _Can’t even attempt a proper wank without him invading my thoughts_.

It had been like that all afternoon, and on into the evening. Ever since Alex had been whisked away off court by Miles, he’d been cropping up in every corner of Jamie’s brain, from when he’d arranged for the security company to come in and wire the lower levels of the house with a silent alarm (the cameras would come the day after next), on into the late afternoon when he’d met with Casablancas, Fab, and Valensi to discuss any other holes in the layout, to meeting with Helders before dinner to discuss the previous team, and what Homme had in place before he’d left.

For some reason, the subject of Homme had made Helders more tense than usual. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Jamie, either. He was well aware of Homme, and his strain of sickness. More than once Jamie had seen the handiwork. The ginger giant was a clever beast with a razor-sharp mind, and a vicious bite. According to Helders, Homme had more or less terrorized the household with his man Shuman in tow. The head chef, Charlotte, had been a target on a handful of occasions, and while Helders muttered something about Alex coming to her rescue at least once, he steered the conversation away from anything else that directly involved Alex and Homme in the same room. Jamie knew better than to press, and they moved on to other details that needed fine tuning. 

That took them to the pool, where Jamie had casually mentioned that he’d been in the house for three days and had yet to see anyone beyond Casablancas, Fab, and Valensi use it.

“I mean, what’s the point, if it’s not being used?”

“Alex uses it,” Helders had offered absently.

Jamie paused. “Really.” That vision of Alex lurking around in the early morning hadn’t convinced Jamie that he was a fan of swimming.

Helders growled. “He _used_ to.”

“So, what happened?”

Helders shrugged, but it was stiff, and he refused to look Jamie in the eye as he replied, “Stopped using it.”

“Why?”

The insistent nature of Jamie’s questioning brought Helders’ gaze back to the blond and he sneered. “Why you so fookin’ interested in Alex an’ the pool?”

Jamie tightened his jaw and answered, “Because if it’s not being used, do we need to keep all of the access points open?”

Helders had grunted once more before turning his back and heading towards the house, leaving Jamie alone by the pool, only for a vision of Alex, this time gliding through the water in a pair of tiny trunks, to come front-crawling through his imagination.

It manifests again while Jamie lays in bed, staring at the water’s reflection still rippling on the ceiling. _Alex, long and svelte lines, pulling himself from the water with his hands braced on the ledge, water running silver rivulets down his pale muscles. All that dark hair slicked back from his face, shiny, reflective-surface goggles over those almost too-large brown eyes. Bottom lip pouting. Trunks snug and soaked, snaked about lean hips. His flanks. His navel. A teasing glimpse of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband-_

Jamie hisses as his cock suddenly fills with rushing blood, and he bites his lip as he shuts his eyes against the fantasy Alex in his mind. _This isn’t good_ , he tries to reason. _This can - **will** end very badly_. But he’s exhausted, hasn’t slept properly in three days, and it’s taking a toll on him. If taking care of this sudden, base urge will make him sleep, then Jamie’s willing to take the risk. Sleep isn’t the only thing he’s been deprived of. Releasing a breath, he lets his right hand float down his chest, skimming the soft, dark blond hairs there, before he meets the waistband of his jeans.

Another shuddering breath pushes from his lungs as his thumb flips the button open, and he makes short work of the zipper before stuffing his hand down into his briefs and hauling his erection out. Cool air from the open window cuts over the tip that’s already slick, and peeking from the foreskin. Rotating his thumb around, Jamie indulges in a sultry moan, and lets his eyes roll back into his head.

The first stroke is shaky, and hesitant. It really has been too long, and he feels that somehow Alex knows he’s plastering his imagination with pin-up versions of him. Licking his lips, he tightens his fist, twists his wrist, and gives half a dozen rough passes to get himself into place.

He’s got an arsenal of grunts and growls from that afternoon’s tennis match all lined up and firing through his brain as he works. What was it that Cas had said later that day? _Nothin’ like some healthy competition to not be rattled_. Jamie had ignored him then, but he can’t ignore the thrum and pulse through his body as he replays each of Alex’s serves, the hem of his shirt riding up and showing off a flash of pale, smooth skin and the taut muscle beneath.

With a curse, Jamie flexes his hips and curls the hand not assaulting his cock to cup his balls and pull them up, snug against his body. He’s close already, much too fast, but it’s coming to a head with a sharp pain like raw nerves exposed to the elements. Alex’s face, sweaty and contorted, flashes in his mind and another moan bubbles unbidden over Jamie’s trembling lips.

_He hadn’t seen Alex for the rest of the afternoon, but close to dinnertime Jamie had been coming through the main foyer of the house as Alex swept down the stairs, tucking his hair behind his ears and glowing in that ethereal, dewy way one does after being properly shagged six ways to Sunday. The dark-eyed man had slowed his steps as he noticed Jamie, and then smirked, and crossed his arms over his chest as he cocked his hip._

_“You been practising, **Cookie**? Wanna rematch?”_

_Jamie had snorted, and then gave Alex a placating look. “Wow, yeah, Alex, good for you.” His tone turned flat, and glib. “You’re good at tennis. And what else...snorting coke?”_

_The elation deflated from Alex’s features, and Jamie felt a funny lurch in his chest, as if he was somewhat remorseful for the sudden change. But then Alex’s brows knitted together, and his lip curled up nastily. “Better than a washed up footie star.”_

_“Fuck you, Turner.”_

_Alex snorted. “Using them big words, too, eh, Cookie? That tax your brain?”_

_Jamie’s fists tightened at his sides and glared up at Alex from where he stood at the landing. “Look,” he muttered, “it’s painfully obvious that you don’t like me, an’ I don’t like you. But since your **boyfriend** has decided I’m gonna be the one to follow you around for the foreseeable future the least we can do is pretend to get along.”_

_“My **boyfriend** is the one signing your cheques,” Alex countered smartly. “So I don’t really have to pretend to do anythin’.”_

_Jamie snorted and shook his head, glancing away as his jaw tightened. “Fookin’ brat.”_

_“Wot?” Alex snapped._

_“I said you’re a brat,” Jamie repeated, louder this time. He went up the first step. “Spoiled,” took another step, “immature,” and then one more, so that he was eye to eye with Alex, “and in constant need of validation. I’ve got news for you, kid: you’re not gonna find a happy ending at the end of a rail.”_

_Jamie saw the faintest wobble in Alex’s perfectly pink, absolutely biteable bottom lip._

_Alex huffed and looked away. “M’not a kid.”_

_“Sure,” Jamie shrugged. “You keep telling yourself that.”_

_Alex glared at Jamie, and opened his mouth to protest, but he thought better of it and clapped it shut. His hand moved to his hair again, retucking the errant wave that wouldn’t stay put, and then he pushed past Jamie, down the stairs, and towards the study. He didn’t even show up for dinner, something that appeared to perplex the cook, Charlotte, and cause Helders to cast the occasional glance at the doorway to the dining room. Miles barely batted an eye and simply asked a general, “Where’s Alex?” To which there were a few shrugs before Miles sighed, “probably bein’ broody in his room again.”_

_Jamie waited for an order to go and fetch him, but when it didn’t come, a strange chill of unease settled over him._

_For such a prized possession, Miles seemed rather frivolous with his affection for the boy. It waxed and waned like the tides._

It was assumed en masse that Alex had locked himself in his room, and he didn’t make an appearance for the rest of the night. Now his image at least is making up for lost time, and Jamie pictures those elegant hands that had so hurriedly pushed hair out of dark eyes now sliding over his body, down his torso, to take up where he’s fisting himself to a rough, hot finish.

“Ah, fuck,” he rasps, the sensation drawing up from his toes.

A shrill, staccato _beep-beep-beep!_ singes the fantasy and Jamie whimpers at the loss. He fumbles around on the bed, his cock aching, blood raging, and comes back to himself as he sees the alarm sensor flare up on his phone screen. Snapped back to reality, he launches from the bed, snags a t shirt from the back of a chair and tugs it on. When his jeans have been carefully fastened over his waning erection, Jamie tucks his Ruger into the back of the waistband, and silently slips out of his room, onto the patio.

For a moment he merely watches, and listens. He detects nothing outside, but the movement of a shadow in the kitchen sets him on high alert. Lightly stealing across the pavement on bare toes, Jamie checks the sliding door entry and finds it closed, but not locked. He rolls his eyes at the ineptness of the house staff, and then pushes it open, pausing to listen before he steps foot inside. 

There’s a cough, a sniffle and a shuffle across the linoleum of the hallway leading to the kitchen, and then there’s a gentle thud, and a rattle of bottles as the fridge is opened. Jamie watches with steady breath as the light from the fridge flares onto the wall, the stark shadow of the intruder cast along with it. The wedge of light then narrows, and is finally cut off, another cough, and then footsteps heading directly towards Jamie. 

He moves on instinct, and when the unknown person is almost upon him, he is quick to clamp a hand over a forearm and squeeze, pressing his thumb between tendons, and yanking the person forward with a twist. He delivers a quick rabbit punch, his knuckles meeting flesh and bone of a mouth. There’s a sharp cry, and something crashes to the floor, fizzing and foaming coldly over Jamie’s toes, but he’s already pressed the intruder face first into the wall, the arm he’s got a hold of is pinned neatly against their back. 

“The _fuck_!” The intruder curses, thrashing against the wall as Jamie leans in, his forearm pressing against the back of his neck. “What the hell are you doin?” 

“I should ask you the same thing - did you seriously break into a house to steal a beer?” Jamie’s toes flex in the wet mess on the floor, the scent of hops rising up as his question trails off. 

The body against the wall heaves once more. “ _Break in_ \- what the - get your fookin’ hands offa me!” 

Jamie loosens his grip at the rolling drawl of consonants but hauls the body into the kitchen with him, where he flips on the lights. They flood the room, and the person he’s caught twists away from his grip to sidle against the counter, a hand sweeping up to the dark, slick hair. 

“Alex?” Turner’s first name is out and across his lips before he can check himself, and Jamie pauses as he watches it register with Alex. Then, the dark eyes are narrowing. 

“Who the _fook_ else would it be?” Alex spits, his lip curling on a sneer. 

“You’re supposed to be upstairs,” Jamie points out. 

“Gee, _Dad_ , guess you caught me. I snuck out. Suppose I’m grounded now?” 

Jamie bristles at the snotty tone and he opens his mouth to say something, but there’s cursing in the hallway that cuts him off. 

“The _fuck_ is going on down here? What the hell is this?” A second later and Kane has joined them in the kitchen, dark silk robe open over boxers. He looks at Alex, and then at Jamie, his expression demanding an explanation. 

“He tripped the silent alarm-” 

“Alex.” Kane’s tone cuts off Jamie’s explanation, and it is followed by a lowly uttered, “What the hell did you do?” 

Jamie realizes that Kane is no longer looking at him, but rather staring at Alex with blazing hazel eyes. When Jamie looks, too, he sees it: Alex has cut his hair; the fall of dark brown, glossy waves is gone, and in its place is a slicked back version of darkness that shows off sculpted cheekbones, a full bottom lip, and pointed chin, crowned with a widow’s peak Dracula himself would be envious of. 

“S’nowt,” Alex mutters, rubbing at his bottom lip with the back of his hand. He frowns at the blood that smears. 

“It’s nowt - Alex, you cut your hair!” Miles exclaims, moving towards the man in question. He notices Alex rubbing his lip, and he clicks his tongue. “Look at this, you’ve fucked your face up again.” Reaching his hands up to take hold, Miles’ shock is apparent when Alex dodges the touch. 

“I said it’s nowt,” Alex insists, louder this time. 

The silence that comes next is like an explosion, a train wreck, mute and deaf all at once, and Jamie watches Kane as he assesses the small, dark-haired man. Jamie is transfixed as well, and for good reason: the insolence is a sturdy mask on Alex’s face, stoney and unmoving, even when Kane’s jaw ticks, and he growls. 

“Upstairs,” he snarls. 

“Mi,” Alex sighs. 

_“ _Now_.” _

There’s a moment - a split second - where Jamie thinks that Alex might actually tell Miles to go fuck himself, but the fight that had flared in the man fizzles out just as quickly as it had come. Alex affords Jamie a glance, a flicker of burning brown embers and pink cheekbones, and then he’s brushing past both men, and heading out of the kitchen. 

Kane turns to Jamie. “He snuck out?” 

His tone is accusatory, incredulous, and it grates over Jamie’s nerves. “I wasn’t aware he was grounded, Mr. Kane.” 

Kane’s gaze turns icy, and he smiles tightly. “What the fuck am I paying you for?” 

“To be his bodyguard, not his watchdog. If he’s going out behind your back, I’d say you have bigger problems than me not doing my job.” 

“You mouth off to Barat like that?” 

“Barat doesn’t have a brat of a wife, Mr. Kane.” 

Kane huffs, and chuckles flatly. “Don’t I know it. Gotta teach this boy some obedience, right? Make him understand who’s in charge - who’s in charge, Cook?” 

“You are, Mr. Kane,” Jamie replies almost robotically. 

“Exactly.” Kane takes one more look around the kitchen, and then turns his attention to Jamie once more. “Turn the lights off on your way out, yeah?” He doesn’t bother with any form of ‘good night’, and merely swings out of the kitchen in the direction that Alex had gone. 

Jamie is left standing in a wake of uncertainty. 

\+ 

“Got it out of your system, then?” 

Alex looks up from where he’s perched on the window seat, dragging his fingers over the now shorter locks, and he blinks slowly at Miles. “Wot?” 

Miles closes the bedroom door behind him and takes a long look at the lad seated before him. _But he’s not really a lad anymore, is he? Looking the way he’s looking_. Miles isn’t quite sure he’s sold on this new version of Alex that seems to be forming, and Alex, for his part, seems to be somewhat confused, too. 

“Whatever it was that made you think it a good idea to go out and get high, no doubt, and cut your hair?” 

The look on Alex’s face melts to sullen, and stubborn, and he levies a sound of disbelief. “I told you already, it’s-” 

Miles points a stern finger. “Don’t say it’s ‘nowt’, Alex, don’t you fucking _dare_.” 

Alex swallows tightly, and remains silent. 

The Scouser throws his hands up, and turns from Alex to pace for a bit. “It’s Zack, innit? Fucking Zack, coming in, stirring shit up.” He fumes, and whirls to glare at Alex. “I know you like to party with him baby, but you can’t be sneaking out these days - or did you miss that part of the conversation this afternoon?” 

Again, Alex says nothing, and trains his dark eyes to the floor. 

When it’s obvious his anger isn’t producing a reaction, Miles changes his tone. “What is it, laa?” He asks softly, moving towards Alex, his hands grasping Alex’s wrists to pry his clasped hands apart. Slinking between Alex’s knees, Miles reaches and cups Alex’s jaw, pulling the man from his thoughts. When dark, sable eyes focus on him, Miles gives him a charming smile. “Hmm? Tell Daddy, baby. What’s botherin’ you?” 

Alex’s lashes flutter as he presses into Miles’ touch, but his mouth is grim as he mutters lamely, “M’tired. I need...summat, I dunno, Miles.” There’s a hitch in his breath, but Miles latches onto the words, not the sound of his love’s voice. 

Miles’ thumb traces one sharp collarbone, swiping at the tear that glistens there, erasing its presence. “How about a change of scenery?” His fingers move again, sliding over flawless skin, flitting about Alex’s ear, until he can sink his fingers into the shorter - but still soft, and thick - hair. 

“Mi?” Alex opens his eyes and stares up imploringly. 

“Shhh,” Miles replies, shaking his head. “It’s a surprise. But I think you’ll like it.” His fingers comb through Alex’s hair over and over again, memorizing the feel. “Now, about this hair.” 

Alex’s cheeks flame and he tries to pull away with an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t know what I were thinkin’, really, it was stupid-” He’s cut off as Miles’ fingers slip to the back of his head and tighten sharply. 

Miles grunts at the sudden hiss Alex emits, and then he grins, and cups Alex’s face with his other hand. “No, laa,” Miles purrs. “It’s growin’ on me.” He leans down and hovers his mouth over Alex’s, eyes falling to half mast as he pulls Alex up those last few inches by the hold he’s got in his hair. “Still enough to get a handful,” he whispers, before he snags Alex’s mouth with a kiss. 

The touch of Miles’ lips makes Alex’s heart pound madly, and he falls into line once more. 

\+ 

Zack left the morning after my rebellious stunt. Whether it was a direct result of that, or more to the excuse he gave me - _“Business, Al, Clarke wants me up in Seattle to meet buyers from Canada.”_ \- he’s gone, and with it goes my taste of what I so desperately want: a sense of self, of choice, apart from this place. 

Less than a week later we fly to New York from LA on a sunset fight, leaving the blast of atomic orange behind, creeping closer to cigarette stacks and footlong heart attacks. From New York, we’ll refuel and hop a winged missile and depart on a red-eye to Naples. We’re enroute to Black Cat Barat, and his summer home in Capri, the current lair of the beast that I’ve yet to face. 

_Homme_. 

I set the notion aside as I sink into my window seat next to Miles. He’s different. We’re all different now, I can feel it. He’s a tremor, a false quake, the opposite of an aftershock. He’s the wave before the disaster. I can’t quite explain it, but I can feel it, sure as I can feel the strange weight of the chain at my neck, the fine-boned hand on my thigh, the drag of blue eyes over my expression, blue eyes I can never catch long enough to hold. 

_Jamie._

His name comes freely, and on some level of instinct, I glance up from under my brows and see that fleeting glimpse of blue as he becomes suddenly interested in something Fab is saying. I know it’s a ruse, because I can remember quite clearly Jamie beside me, his mouth hovering next to my ear as he softly intones, _“Don’t pay attention to Fab. No one else does.”_

Miles’ thumb and forefinger dig into either side of my kneecap, jerking me to the present, and he leans in and murmurs his latest profession of love, or flattery, or lies, maybe, I’m not quite sure. Do I love him? It’s starting to blur, but even as he gives me that crooked smirk that makes his nose wrinkle, I feel myself smiling, an automatic response that is paired with my fingers reaching up to touch the crisp chain of platinum that he settled around my neck only a handful of days prior. For some reason, the metal does not warm as it lays against my skin; perhaps I have become as cold as it, slithering, not knowing its worth. 

_“You surprised me, Alex.”_

Miles’ lips are moving, but it’s Jamie’s voice I hear. Miles gives me another smile, and a staggering kiss that I’m unprepared for, and then he’s leaning back, stretching his legs out, folding arms behind his head and closing his eyes. Twisting my fingers tightens the slack on the chain, turns tips purple, makes the links pinch my skin. If I pull hard enough, will it break? 

I’ll stare at the thin band of gold melting on the horizon until I go blind, until day dips into night, and I’ve no choice but to slip under. Four gin and tonic and an Ambien will do that to a person. I’ve flown lots before; in a life like mine it seems like I’m always being dashed from one city to another. Down on the ground, they all look the same, smell the same, feel the same, or perhaps that’s just my perception now. Up here where the atmosphere is thin, there is a quality of light that is indescribable, and the lights on the wings seem to flicker with my heartbeat. The clouds are hot lavender, blushing pink and apricot, all becoming bruised and dark the further we go. 

\+ 

__“You all right?”_ _

A shadow fell across Alex’s half-eaten breakfast and he looked up, angling a hand at his brow to cut the mid-morning sun. He’d missed it those first few mornings, but Cook’s - _Jamie’s_ hair was actually quite blonde at the ends. 

“Yeah,” Alex shrugged, looking back down to his plate before reaching for his coffee. 

“Mr. Kane wants you to learn how to handle yourself.” 

Alex swallowed thickly at the sudden ache in his throat, and he nodded, his shoulders hunching as he did. “I guess so, yeah,” he mumbled. 

Jamie was silent for a moment, and Alex knew the blond was staring down at him. Quickly cutting his glance towards Miles, he found the older man frowning at something someone on the other end of his cell phone was saying. Alex looked back up at Jamie.v “Can it...like...I don’t really feel like it right now.” 

_If not now, when?_

“Suit yourself,” Jamie shrugged, moving down the steps towards the lawn. A table and chairs had been set up under the tangelo tree, and Alex watched Jamie reach into his shoulder holster and remove his gun to set on the table. 

When Jamie sat, Alex straightened and leaned forward, his attention riveted on Jamie’s quick, precise actions as he methodically took the gun apart piece by piece, checking each one and laying them carefully on the table’s surface before he picked up a cloth and began cleaning them, one at a time. 

Beside Alex, Miles cursed sharply, and he jumped at the sudden sound and glared sidelong at the Scouser. Miles’ face was grim, and he suddenly stood from the chair and began barking orders as he stormed towards the house. The patio door slid open, almost bouncing off of the tracks, and then it slammed shut, and Alex flinched again. He saw Jamie pause his rhythm for a moment, head cocked in the direction of Miles’ outburst, and then he began cleaning once more. 

The yard was otherwise still, and the distant sound of the ocean, and the closer, cheerful chirps of birds, filled the hollowness. The longer Alex watched Jamie, however, the further the sounds became, until all he could hear was his own breathing, and his heartbeat which seemed to thump in time with each honed movement of Jamie’s hands. With a flourish, the slide was clipped into place, and then the mag, and Jamie was cupping the gun in his palms, and narrowing his eye down the sight. 

Alex was halfway across the lawn before he realized it, but Jamie barely batted an eye when Alex finally made it to the table. 

“You feel like it now?” He tilted his gaze up at Alex, his expression patient. 

Alex nodded shortly. “Yeah - yes, I mean. Yes.” 

Jamie nodded and stood, and held his gun out to Alex. “You ever held one before?” 

With a huff, Alex flicked his hair - still not used to the new length - and held his hand out. “M’not a complete virgin.” 

“Yeah? Don’t want this going off in your face.” 

The dark-eyed man’s cheeks flamed and he lifted his eyes to Jamie with a shocked expression. “Excuse me?” 

“The gun, Mr. Turner,” Jamie chuckled. 

“Oh-of-of course. I mean, I’ve held Miles’ once. Before.” 

Jamie cocked an eyebrow. “Only once?” 

Alex wasn’t sure if it was possible for his face to burn harder, but it happened. “Y-yes. He’d just fired it earlier that night an’ I was curious.” He quickly glanced at Jamie, who was grinning quite madly. “About the _gun_ ,” he tacked on hurriedly. 

“Okay, all right, I know that, Mr. Turner. Just trying to ease the tension.” 

Alex wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he merely said, “Alex. You can call me Alex. Please.” 

“Okay,” Jamie agreed. “Let’s move down the lawn a bit. No, you carry it. Safety’s on, anyway. Get used to the weight, and moving with it. I’m not sure you’ll have a piece exactly like this, but it’ll give you an idea.” 

“Shouldn’t I have like...a holster or summat?” Alex asked as he followed Jamie down the lawn, trying desperately to keep his eyes from straying to the back of his slacks. Four nights prior had been a treat, returning to the house after cutting his hair, only to be assaulted by Jamie, barefoot and in jeans. At the time, he’d been embarrassed to have been caught, but the more he thought about it, the more he was in awe of Jamie’s prowess when it came to his job. It made him feel a little bit safer, in the end. And, he’d discovered that a sleep-deprived, disheveled Jamie, made for very interesting, albeit vivid fantasies. 

“You Wyatt Earp or summat?” Jamie shot back, glancing at Alex over his shoulder. “C’mon.” 

They moved down to one end of the lawn and faced the other where there was a stone bench backed along the concrete wall. Beer bottles were lined up there, and Alex shot Jamie a curious glance. 

“Jules and Fab were drinking out here last night. I asked them to leave the empties.” 

“You planned this?” 

Jamie shrugged and dug his hands into his pockets, and glanced out towards the house. “Ehhh...more or less. It were a gamble. I honestly didn’t know if you’d say yes.” He looked back at Alex. “Or change your mind. You don’t seem the type.” 

“M’not,” Alex replied swiftly. “Usually.” He looked down at the gun and studied it, noting that it was much more utilitarian that Miles’ was. “These things come standard issue?” 

Jamie’s eyes snapped towards Alex. “Excuse me?” he asked lowly. 

“Y’know, when you graduate bodyguard school, or wherever you learn your trade.” 

Jamie’s jaw tensed. “It’s just a gun.” 

Alex’s eyebrows went up at Jamie’s sudden shift in demeanor, and he gave a small chuckle. “Okay, relax, it were joost a question, yeah?” 

Jamie grunted, and then pointed down the lawn. “We’re aiming for those, obviously. Don’t be too worried, we’re using blanks.” 

“Right,” Alex muttered, lifting the gun in one hand and turning it on its side like so many action movies. “Pow-pow!” he joked. 

“That’s probably the worst way to hold a gun,” Jamie pointed out. 

“Yeah? That why they do it in all the movies?” He drew his hand back, located the safety, and flicked it off with his thumb before resuming his former stance. His finger slid over the trigger. He certainly didn’t feel the same electricity as he had the first time he’d held Miles’ gun, and he wondered if it was the current company, or the fact that he’d been laced with coke and champagne that first time. 

Jamie made a sound of disbelief. “It’s got some kickback to it, if you’re not ready for it-” 

_CRR-ACK!_ The gun went off, Alex yelped, propelled backwards by a foot, his arm jerking wildly. At the other end of the yard, the bullet veered way off target and imploded on the concrete wall with a loud _smack!_ and a tiny puff of dust. 

Having automatically ducked, Jamie glanced up from where he’d crouched, arms over his head, and found Alex dazed, staring at the wall with a goofy grin on his face, the gun clasped limply in his right hand. He scowled as Alex giggled. 

"Holy _shit_!" Alex laughed, turning wide eyes on Jamie. "Did you fookin' see that?" 

“Sorry,” Jamie gruffly replied, standing again and dusting off his trousers. “I was too busy ducking and covering.” 

Alex snickered again, and then bit the inside of his lips when he realised Jamie was far from amused. “M’sorreh,” he said quickly. 

“Can I show ya how to do this now? Or you wanna play cops n’ robbers some more?” 

Alex’s bottom lip jutted out for a second, but he took a breath and squared his shoulders, and looked at Jamie with a straight face. He wouldn’t let Jamie’s snark get to him. He wasn’t that boy anymore. He nodded again. “Show me what to do.” 

Pointing his chin back at the beer bottles lined up on the bench, Jamie moved closer to Alex. “All right, turn round. Get your feet planted.” He waited as Alex moved into position, and then wedged his foot between Alex’s, tapping them. “A little more will do - that’s good. Put a bend in your knees, you gotta relax, else you’ll get thrown back like before. Be loose.” 

“Aye,” Alex nodded. “Right.” He gave a little bounce at his knees and then rotated his shoulders. 

“Lift the gun,” Jamie continued, watching as Alex moved rather stiffly, his arm tense from the fingers that wrapped the grip, to the wrist tightly angled, all the way up the strained forearm, bicep, and shoulder. Taking a step forward, Jamie peered at Alex’s profile, the scowl in place, and the sneer. “Who are you aiming at?” 

Startled at Jamie’s sudden proximity, and the gruff softness in his voice, Alex jerked and blinked at Jamie. “Wot?” he asked, feeling his arm begin to tremble. 

Jamie’s lips quirked. “You’ve barely fired a gun and already you’re on a mission for blood. Relax,” Jamie smoothly instructed. He held Alex’s gaze as he fitted his hand around Alex’s, and then drew his his fingers back to Alex’s wrist. “You’re trying to strangle it. It’s an egg - it’s a baby bird, aye? Cupped in your palm. You don’t want it to fly away, but you don’t want to bust its wings.” As he spoke, his fingers slipped back to Alex’s hand, and helped him ease off. 

“There now,” Jamie said. “Can you feel your fingers?” 

Alex nodded faintly. 

“All the way up, _relax_ ,” Jamie encouraged, moving to stand behind Alex. 

The smooth, warm weight of Jamie’s hand settling on Alex’s shoulder made him let out a small huff of air, and then Jamie flexed his fingers. “Now, breathe in.” 

Alex quickly inhaled, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. Somewhere behind him, he thought he heard the sound of the patio door sliding open once more, but Jamie’s voice was almost hypnotic, and he clung to it. 

“Keep breathing,” Jamie said, moving closer behind Alex. “In, and out. Easy. Nice and steady.” 

Easier said than done. As Jamie spoke with a gentle tone, he held Alex’s shoulder with one hand, and eased the fingers of his other around Alex’s hip. A shiver ran through Alex’s body, and he cursed himself for not being able to control it. 

“Easy,” Jamie murmured again, this time moving his hand from Alex’s shoulder and sliding it back down to hold Alex’s hand around the grip. “See the sight on the barrell?” 

Alex gulped. “Aye.” 

“Line it up with one of the bottles. Close your eye. Got it?” 

“Aye,” Alex repeated. 

“Inhale,” Jamie instructed. 

Alex obeyed. 

“And when you let the breath out, squeeze the trigger - don’t jerk it. Take another breath if you have to, but on the exhale, that’s when you fire.” Jamie’s fingers left Alex’s hand, burning their wake over his skin, leaving Alex on his own. 

So, he took another breath and then exhaled, and he drew his finger back in a smooth motion, suqeezing the trigger. 

_BANG_. 

Across the lawn, a bottle burst from its perch on the bench and shattered in a dazzling display of amber. 

“Again,” he heard Jamie order, and Alex took a breath and swung the sight, aiming at the next bottle. He repeated the process, and the bottle exploded. 

“Again,” Jamie encouraged, but it was unnecessary. Alex unloaded half of the clip, taking out each and every bottle, one by one, until the ground beneath the bench was littered in a mosaic of his marksmanship. 

He let out a breath. “Fook me.” 

Jamie’s hand clapped on Alex’s shoulder. “Fook me is right.” 

“You sound surprised,” Alex chuckled, smirking at his handiwork. 

“You surprised me, Alex,” was Jamie’s reply. 

Alex turned wide eyes to Jamie. “Yeah?” 

Jamie shrugged. “You’re a natural.” He afforded Alex a grin. 

Alex felt it in his bloodstream, and mirrored Jamie’s expression with a euphoric chuckle. “Can we do it again?” 

Jamie laughed. “I think you killed all the bottles,” he pointed out, directing Alex’s gaze back down the lawn. “How do you feel?” 

Alex’s laughter bubbled as he looked back to Jamie. “Fookin’ incredible,” he gushed, unable - _unwilling_ to stop the smile that spread across his face. 

“All right,” Jamie replied, his hand settling on Alex’s shoulder once more. “You’ve got six bullets left, let’s see if we can’t find something else to shoot, cowboy.” His fingers slid over the smooth fabric of Alex’s button down as he held the young man’s gaze. 

“Yippie-kai-yay,” Alex drawled, arching an eyebrow. The fact that Jamie’s hand still lingered hadn’t gone unnoticed, but Alex didn’t say a thing. 

“Alex!” 

His name burst the moment and Alex tensed, immediately turning towards the house. He blinked in the bright sun, became aware of time, and his surroundings, and of Miles, who was stalking down the lawn, his shirt unbuttoned and flapping in the breeze. 

“Miles, did you see that?” Alex crowed, pointing to where his targets lay defeated. “First try, too - Jamie says I’m a natural.” Jamie’s hand slipped from his shoulder, and he wasn’t sure why he missed it. 

“Is that what _Jamie_ says?” Miles asked sharply. He turned to Jamie. “A natural, eh? Well, fuckin’ good for him, yeah?” 

Alex’s face fell, and he immediately moved between Miles and Jamie. “Mi? C’mon, what is it? I mean, I fookin’ _destroyed_ those bottles, an’ you thought I wouldn’t be able to handle meself.” 

Though he still wore his sunglasses, Alex could feel when Miles’ gaze narrowed at him. “Bottles don’t bleed, laa. They don’t fuckin’ breathe.” He inhaled sharply, and stepped further into Alex’s space. “Bottles ain’t the same as bodies. Think you can shoot a man?” 

Alex averted his eyes, cheeks flaming, as his excitement was swiftly crushed by the sledgehammer of Miles’ words. 

Jamie interjected. “Mr. Kane, I think if it comes down to it, Alex would be able to hold his own-” 

Miles moved Alex out of the way, and stepped up to Jamie. “Oh, _you_ think. Here we are again, Cook, you thinkin’ you’re running the show.” 

“Miles, you’re the one who said you wanted me to learn - you’re the one who told Jamie to teach me-” 

“I’ve changed me mind,” Miles snapped at Alex, his hand wrapping Alex’s elbow like a vice. 

“Wha- the fuck, Mi, what is _wrong_ with you?” Alex yanked out of Miles’ hold and glared at the man. 

Miles drew a short breath and pressed his mouth into a hard line. “Thank you, Cook, your instruction has proved to be quite the lesson. Alex, join me inside?” Once more he took hold of Alex’s arm and squeezed until Alex winced. The message was clear, and Alex nodded stiffly. He afforded Jamie one last glance, catching concern in the corners of that blue gaze, and then he was hauled forward, and propelled towards the house. 

\+ 

“I’ve about bloody had it with you, laa,” Miles growled as he slammed the bedroom door behind us. 

This was becoming quite common these days: I’d do something and it would cause him nothing but displeasure - unless I had his dick down me throat, he never seemed to be happy with what I was doing. 

“What is it this time,” I droned. Turning round, I leaned back against the dresser, arms crossed over my chest, and watched Miles pace the floor of our bedroom. 

“You,” he snapped. 

“Me.” I replied flatly. 

He snorted in disbelief. “Out there in the backyard, showing me nothin’ but disrespect in front of my men, letting Cook get nice an’ friendly wit’ ya?” His hands flailed as he spoke, conveying what I could only call frustration. 

I was frustrated, too. “The fuck you talkin’ about, Mi? He were showing me how to use a gun - you did the same thing two months ago!” 

“Oh, don’t you fuckin’ try to change the subject, he were all over ya, laa. I’ve got license to do so: you’re mine.” 

I scowled, shifting his words and his accusations around in my mind. I hadn’t let Jamie do anything...had I? While my body still remembered every ghost of his touch, Miles’ anger was very much real, and present. “It’s nothin’ to get bent outta shape about-” 

Miles suddenly whirled, his finger pointing in my face as he closed the distance between us. “Do _not_ tell me how I should and shouldn’t feel when that fuckin’ _watchdog_ had his paws all over you, Alex.” 

Clenching my jaw, I swatted Miles’ finger away, and snarled, “You think I’d _let_ something happen?” I shook my head and moved to step aside, out of the fire. 

His eyes flashed as they widened at my sudden outburst and he grabbed my collar and hauled me back in place, forcing me back against the dresser so hard that the contents on top rattled. He aimed his finger in my face again. 

“I don’t know _what_ to expect from you anymore, Alexander!” He roared. 

I couldn’t help but flinch, and I still wish I hadn’t. It was the chink in the armour Miles was searching for. He dug his claws in and began to tear me down. 

“You’ve changed - since Chicago, you’ve changed, and I don’t know what to do with you. You’re moody, you’re malcontent, insufferable at times. You get fucked up on coke and do stupid things like cut your hair -” and here, his hand swept up and clipped the side of my head, making me gasp - “And then you start lippin’ me off.” Miles’ eyes narrowed as he pushed his nose against mine, his voice barely above a terrible whisper. 

“This isn’t my fault,” I croaked, moving so that his eyes couldn’t bore into mine. “I...I’m not the only one changed, Miles, you got fucking shot and I’ve been in the dark, trying to come to terms with whatever is happening to you-” 

And then he hit me. Open palmed, rings glancing off of my mouth, a slap that rivaled the sound of the gun going off. A small, wounded sound echoed in the room, and it was drowned out by the sound of Miles’ palm striking me again. Then he shook me by my collar, my vision bursting with stars that stung my lip, my cheek, my heart. Tears slipped uncontrollably and I choked on a sob as both of his hands suddenly cupped my face and held too tightly. 

With his forehead pressed to mine, he began to ramble. “I’m trying to set things straight, laa,” He groaned, frustrated. “Trying to make sure that my baby is taken care of - this house, these clothes, the coke you stuff into your nose, it’s not for free, babeh. Nothing is.” 

I nodded shakily as Miles pulled away and pouted. “Why do you make me do this?” 

“Miles,” I croaked. 

The tension seemed to melt from Miles’ body and he sagged, and dropped his head to my shoulder as his hands slipped down my back. Looping his arms around my waist he sighed, and the sound was close to broken. I stared at the mirror on the opposite wall and watched as Miles dropped to his knees, his face pressed into my stomach. There, he sighed again, and I raised a shaky hand to lay it on the back of his head. 

“I don’t wanna fight, Alex. I don’t wanna hurt you. I’m just trying to keep you safe, laa.” His voice was muffled by my shirt, but I heard every word. 

“I know, Mi,” I replied automatically, scrubbing my fingertips over the short nap of his hair. “I’m sorry,” I heard myself offer. 

“We need to get away from here,” he lamented a few moments later. Tilting his head up, he pressed his chin into my navel and flashed me a playful grin. “Just, get the fuck off of American soil for a while. What do you think?” 

“Of course,” I agreed, not sure of the logic behind it, but suddenly very eager to do just as Miles had said: get away from here. 

\+ 

He kept fiddling with that damn necklace. He had been ever since Kane had slung it around his neck at breakfast two days earlier in front of all of us. My eyes strayed to Alex of their own free will; I couldn’t help it. Something had shifted between us. The insolent brat I had branded him as had given way to this new entity, an elusive being that seemed to surge with eagerness when he’d accomplished something, and was recognized for it. It was almost sad, actually, like a puppy taught a new trick, and then given a treat. 

Only to be kicked by his master when no one else is looking. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened. Alex still sported a bruise on his jaw, and another just above that, and I had no doubt that Kane had caused both of them. Alex had looked rather perplexed as Kane had stood at breakfast that day, hand heavy on Alex’s shoulder as he gazed down at the younger man and smiled that face-splitting smile. I took a chance, looked to Helders, and saw that he appeared rather pale and stone-faced, at least more so than usual. I missed most of Kane’s speech, but was very much aware of how quiet it suddenly got when he presented Alex with a flat, rectangular box. 

Alex took it and stared at it as if we was uncertain as to what to do with it. 

Kane pouted, lifting a hand towards Alex, and bless the man, he barely flinched. I doubt anyone but myself, Helders, and Kane actually noticed, but the latter chose to ignore it and instead continued, pushing his fingers into Alex’s hair and combing the short strands back over his ear. Alex’s face hardened a fraction and he looked at the box in his hands and then opened it, rather robotically. I had a feeling this wasn’t the first time Kane had bought his way back into Alex’s good books, but something told me that the currency was losing its worth. 

“Oh,” Alex breathed. The lights of the dining room caught the flash of metal in the box, and Kane moved then, plucking the platinum chain from the velvet cushion and unclasping it. 

“It pales in value compared to you, Alex,” Kane stated, slinging the chain around Alex’s neck so that it settled against his collarbones. He fumbled as he fastened it, like it didn’t want to obey his thumbs, but with a growl, he got it closed, and almost immediately Alex’s hand flew to it, fingers slipping underneath and lifting it as he swallowed. 

“It’s gorgeous,” Alex murmured. He looked up, tilting his head back to look at Kane. “Thank you, babeh. You didn’t have to.” 

Kane waved his hand and made a sound of dismissal. “If I can’t spoil you, laa, then what’s the point, eh?” Then, he bent towards Alex’s ear and spoke so that no one save Alex could hear. 

Alex’s expression dropped and he nodded once more, his lips moving in a half-hearted, “Of course.” But with Kane’s face buried in his neck, Alex sought something to hold onto and he found me staring back. I saw the panic in his gaze, and the doubt, and the fear, all too familiar. 

Kane straightened moments later, and winked and sat in his chair before motioning to Charlotte for more coffee. His job was done, it seemed, he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do: repair any damage that had been done the night before, or at least repair it to his specifications. 

Though Kane and Alex had boarded the plane together and sat side by side at takeoff, Kane was now elsewhere, and Cas was with him, going over the details of Barat’s lair on the island of Capri. The plan was to make a final descent in Naples, where Barat would meet us with his yacht, and take us to the island. I hadn’t been there since...it had been a long time, but it felt like yesterday. 

_“You know one of these days you’re gonna fall hard, Jamie, and when you do, I hope you get just as fucked up as I have falling for you. Blood, and tears, and bruises - all of it.”_

_“Katie - NO!” The gun goes off and there’s always so much blood-_

I jerked awake in my seat on the plane, amazed that I had managed to sleep long enough to have a dream, or at least a recollection of memories I thought I’d stashed away. They’d all come roaring to the surface at the mention of returning to Barat’s summer home in Capri, which Kane announced after he’d presented his gift to Alex. My fingers had fumbled the fork in my hand and it clattered to my plate. Beside me, Jules warned me to keep my cool, and across from me both Fab and Valensi looked at each other before quickly staring at their plates. I took a breath and held it for a moment, and then dared to glance up to where Kane and Alex sat. 

The former was watching me closely, as if waiting for me to step out of line and seal my fate - he’d given me fair warning the night before, cornering me in the living room while I reviewed the security codes and details with Helders. I’d come to find that while relatively silent, the ex-boxer was invaluable, and dedicated to his job. Helders had been dismissed right away, and Kane then extended an invitation to me to join him downstairs in his private office. I knew he wasn’t asking for polite conversation, and I wondered if he’d somehow seen through my facade and detected just how much Alex had affected me that morning when he’d fired off those rounds. 

And he _had_ affected me, and I’d set it aside as a side effect of having been so detached for so long. Something inside of me spoke to something inside of him, perhaps. The moment I put my hand on his I felt it - the tremor of vibrancy that hovers over the mouth that split second before a kiss, or a punch. He’d been warm, receptive, even inviting - and it wasn’t adding up the way it should. It was off, like a dream so vivid but there’s just that lingering feeling in your chest that there’s something else coming at you from the darkness. Maybe that was my warning then, and I chose to ignore it. 

I’d never been in Kane’s private office before, and he kept it locked for good reason: it seemed he kept some of his most prized possessions down here, like some sort of gallery, and I half expected to see a shape in the dust akin to Alex’s frame. As it was, the walls were covered in art, most of them originals as far as I could tell. I wasn’t an art connoisseur by any means, and Kane must have suspected that because he waltzed in behind where I stood staring at one particular painting while he made his way to the bar. 

“That’s a real Picasso, by the way,” he offered breezily, opening the cabinet and perusing the choice of crystal decanters. 

I glanced at him and then turned back to the painting in question, crossing my arms over my chest and tilting my head. I’d always assumed Picasso’s paintings were a bitch to decipher, given their nature. This one was rather blatant in its message. 

“It’s called, ‘Cat Eating a Bird’,” Kane informed me, and I turned again with a raised eyebrow. 

“That’s original,” I snorted, looking back to the rather rudimentary design of a cat indeed ripping the guts out of a bird in its claws. “Rather morbid, innit?” 

Kane chuckled, and I heard liquid splashing into expensive crystal. “Perhaps,” he said as he joined me in looking at the painting. “What did you expect, ‘The Old Guitarist’?” Kane’s laughter rang out like a gatling gun and his hand slapped down onto my shoulder, gripping me rather tightly. I tightened my jaw as his laughter died away. “Have a seat, Cook.” When I looked at him again, his face brooked no argument, and he jerked his head back in the direction of his desk. 

Settled in a seat in front of him, the width of mahogany between us, Kane leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on his desk with a flat smile. “I don’t let anyone down here, yeah?” It was a strange way to start a conversation. Still, I nodded, staring down into my drink before I took a sip. 

“I gathered that,” I replied before lifting my gaze back to Kane’s. “You wouldn’t even let me run cameras in here,” I continued, glancing about the walls at the other paintings, the _objets d’arts_ on the bookcase, the fucking mirror on the ceiling, and the raw slate tile at my feet. There was a mark on the floor, a swirl of dark, rusted red that could have been naturally occuring had it not been for the blatant choice of grey tiles. I turned my attention back to Miles, and inadvertently moved my foot over the mark. “You must feel the need to keep a lot of things secret.” 

“It’s a risky business we’re in, Cook. You of all people should know that.” 

I slowly sat back in the chair, keeping my gaze steady. 

Kane continued. “This is my home, my sanctuary. It’s where I feel safest. Where I keep my most prized possessions. Down here, are the priceless ones - the Picasso, and the Pollock, there, to name a few. I don’t let anyone down here because I don’t like people looking at what’s mine without my expressed permission. I certainly don’t like them touching what’s mine, either.” He leaned forward over the desk, planting his elbows and lacing his fingers almost as if we were talking about the weather. “Do you see what I’m getting at?” 

Looking down at the whiskey in my hand, I dragged my toe back and inspected the mark on the floor again, certain that it wasn’t part of the stone. That was blood. And it was recent. Inhaling, I set the glass on Kane’s desk and met his stare with my own. “I do.” 

“Good,” Kane nodded with a small, satisfied smile. “Clarke sent you because you’re the best, or so he thinks. As far as I’m concerned, you’re still on probation, Cook, not worth much more than your meals until you prove to me otherwise. I’m a reasonable man, and I reward those who take their jobs here seriously. I thrive on loyalty. Once you’re with me, you’re with me. The only person who can change that is Clarke, and believe me, it wasn’t my choice to switch companies over. But you’re here, and we all have our jobs to do. I’ll only say this one more time: I’m in charge. You do your job, keep your hands off the valuables, and we won’t have any problems.” 

\+ 

Alex whimpered in his sleep, and then shivered, and burrowed down into the seat. Even from where I sat across the aisle I could see gooseflesh rising on his skin. His mouth turned into a frown, too, and I realized that it didn’t much matter what shape those lips took, I couldn’t help but stare. He made another noise of distress, and I contemplated waking him, but something told me that he hadn’t slept in a very long time. He wasn’t thrashing. Better to leave him be, perhaps make him more comfortable. To my right Valensi snored rather loudly, and Fab had dozed off with his headphones on, so I took a chance and stood slowly, wincing at the sharp pain in my right knee, the old injury that had sidelined me reminding me of where I’d started out. How had I come to this - working for a man who viewed another person as a possession to be owned and put in a cage for his amusement and torture alone? I thought I’d met the scum of the earth before, among the the chaos I’d worked in, but Kane was a new breed all together. I’d known that coming into the job but seeing it first hand was something else entirely. The feeling in my chest I’d been trying to ignore since I’d first laid eyes on Alex twinged, and my hands went for the overhead compartment, finding a blanket there. Unfolding it, I threw it over Alex, who barely shifted but seemed to relax immediately, and even offer up a little sigh as if in thanks. 

Instinct kicked in. All at once I wanted to jump out of the plane, parachute or not; and walk into the back office where Kane was conferencing with Helders and Cas, and blow the Scouser’s brains all over the wall. My heart lurched again. Alex Turner was getting under my skin, and I would willingly be flayed alive if it meant keeping him safe. I’d been down this road before and I’d made a promise with myself that I’d never let it happen again. I’d been lucky enough to keep my life, but I was certain Katie had taken my heart with hers, hardening me to a stone soldier that only cared about the job, and nothing more. At some point, the wretched thing in my chest had started beating, and I knew without a doubt that I was fucking screwed. 

\+ 

_“I’ve got information.”_

_Stifling a yawn and still a little hazy from Alex effectively banging me into the mattress in his post-tennis exuberance, I nodded absently at Hughes’ confession and mixed myself a screwdriver._

_“Oh?” I drawled. “Juicy gossip, then? And why am I the lucky recipient?”_

_Hughes twisted a heavy silver skull ring around his index finger and then shook his hands out before dragging them back through through his hair. “I know you wanna take Clarke down, Kane.” He snorted. “Hell, everyone knows it. You wanna get to him faster? I’m your man.” For someone striking a deal, he didn’t appear very confident and his shoulders twitched before he lit a cigarette and inhaled a third of it before even exhaling once. “Just name your price: how much is it worth to you?”_

_I laughed lightly and then swallowed half of my screwdriver. “What are you so scared of, Hughes?” I asked casually, leaning back against the bar in the office that had temporarily served as my recovery room. “You’re sweating bullets.”_

_“It’s eighty-five degrees outside,” Hughes snapped._

_“Didn’t you used to be on Homme’s payroll? Why so eager to switch over?”_

_Hughes bristled and stabbed his cigarette out before he leaned sideways and eyed my bar. “Mind if I…?” He trailed off, not waiting for an answer, and stood to fix himself a drink._

_I moved aside and watched him work._

_“I’m on a lot of different payrolls,” Hughes muttered, reaching for a glass and the bottle of vodka. Not bothering with ice or a shot glass, he merely dumped a healthy measure and then lifted it, and guzzled it down. He moved to pour another but I put my hand out over the glass and watched him. It took him a moment before he met my gaze, and even then it was through the amber lenses of the aviator sunglasses he refused to take off. “Look, I know a good thing when I see one, all right?” He growled. “Shit, Kane, like I said, I know you’re trying to take Clarke down. You think Homme doesn’t know? What I’ve got...well, it could clear Homme off the board. Get you to where you wanna be, faster.”_

_I considered the offer. “And what do you get out of it?”_

_“Besides hefty monetary compensation from you?” Hughes shrugged. “How about something permanent?”_

_I laughed again, a ripple that burst from my lips, and when I saw that he was serious, I laughed even harder. “Are you fuckin’ joking, mate? You’re just gonna go clean, put that checkered past with dodgy connections behind, eh?” I shook my head and sighed dramatically. “You think I’m gonna save you from whatever shit you’re in with Homme? You think I’d save your ass from Clarke?” I shook my head. There were certain ways to go about things, and Jesse Hughes seemed intent on doing his best impression of a bull in a china shop. “Who says I’ve severed ties with Homme, anyway?”_

_“You sent his ass packing to France,” Hughes pointed out._

_“That was Clarke’s decision,” I replied icily._

_“Yeah? That why your little diamond was coming out of Clarke’s residence while you were still laid up in bed recovering?” Hughes smiled nastily. “Sounds like Turner’s got something up his sleeve; I wouldn’t doubt Homme’s gotten to him too-”_

_The mention of Alex set me ablaze, and I saw red. I threw my fist into his lying mouth, and he stumbled back with a mouthful of blood and an indignant cry. “You come into my house and have the fuckin’ **nerve** to talk to me about loyalty?” I threw another punch and then countered, catching him in the gut with the first, and the jaw with the second. Hughes sputtered and dropped to his knees like a sack of flour, his hands swinging out and catching the glasses on the bar, sending them crashing to the floor with him. They shattered, and he wheezed, struggling for the wind I’d knocked out of him. Snaring his hair in my fist, I hauled him upright, sneering down at his wincing face. He shuffled over the floor, scattering broken glass and no doubt suffering a handful of cuts as he did so. Behind me, the door crashed open and out the corner of me eye I saw Casablancas slide in beside me, his gun drawn. But with Hughes in my hand, I was unhinged and my fist drove into his face again, along with my point._

_“Get the **fuck** outta my home, Hughes, or I swear to Christ I’ll kill you here and now.”_

_Hughes grinned, blood-stained teeth and all, and chuckled. “Yeah, c’mon, Kane, do it. C’mon and kill me, I know you want to, you’re shaking. So do it - but you’ll always wonder what I know.”_

_“You don’t know **shit** ,” I roared, spit flying, my rage inflamed._

_“Then kill me, and be done with it.”_

_“Sir,” Casablancas suddenly interrupted._

_I’d forgotten he was there. Dropping Hughes, I whirled and blinked at the tall brunet standing beside me. My chest was heaving and my hand began to ache. I flexed my fingers, feeling the skin pull with Hughes’ blood where it coated my knuckles._

_“I’ll take care of it,” Casablancas offered, already moving in with his gun. Hughes cowered, a pathetic whimper leaving him._

_“You call my bluff,” I muttered, reaching in and lashing my palm over his face for good measure, “And I call yours. Get the fuck out. Don’t let me see your face again. You can be sure I’ll be informing Homme about this, by the way. Your days are numbered, you insignifi **cunt** little shit. I’ll let Homme deal with his own trash.”_

\+ 

As Alex had fallen asleep almost immediately after takeoff from Los Angeles, Miles was certain to take full advantage of his wakefulness when they landed in New York to refuel. In a private hangar in Teterboro they passed the time smoking cigarettes, making light conversation, and, for the security detail, walking a tight perimeter, with an eye always on Miles. When Casablancas had approached Miles somewhere over Nebraska, he’d made it clear that things would be tight during their rest stop, and that no one would be leaving the hangar. Miles didn’t care anyway; he was completely occupied with Alex, wrapped around the man from behind as they lounged against a railing overlooking the operation. The dark-eyed lad seemed tense, and on edge, so Miles dug the Xanax from the inside of his jacket and shook the bottle under Alex’s nose, rattling the contents. 

Alex wrinkled said nose, and shook his head. “Nah, not now,” he muttered, lighting his sixth cigarette in an hour and dragging on it heavily. 

Miles raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and tucked the bottle back into his jacket with a sigh. “Alex, love, will you relax? What has gotten into you?” 

Alex looked up from where he was leaning over the railing, his attention caught by something for a moment, and he blinked at Miles. “M’sorreh but...I just feel... _off_.” 

Skeptical with Alex’s behavior, Miles tilted his head and gave Alex a placating smile. “There’s nothing to worry about, yeah? C’mon, we’re on our way to _Italy_ , Alex. You could at least pretend to be excited.” 

Alex pouted and opened and closed his mouth a few times before he sighed and gave Miles a watery smile. “M’sorreh,” he mumbled, leaning back over the railing. 

A few seconds later and Miles slid behind him, wrapping long arms around Alex’s waist and leaning his chin on Alex’s shoulder. “Are you nervous about flying?” 

Alex shook his head, and Miles pressed a kiss to the side of Alex’s neck. “Are you nervous about Italy?” 

Again, Alex shook his head, but he turned his face towards Miles’ catching his gaze with the corner of his eye. 

Miles’ mouth turned down a fraction and he reached up to Alex’s throat, tracing his fingertips along the platinum necklace there. “Are you nervous about me, laa?” He whispered. 

Alex hesitated, but gave a fraction of a nod before explaining. “Nervous about you... _for_ you, Miles.” 

His confession, and admission of concern, made Miles grin, and sneak another kiss to the corner of Alex’s mouth. “Baby, everything is gonna be okay.” 

Alex hummed, but it wasn’t a convincing sound. Still, he looked back to the hangar floor below them, where the plane’s crew hustled about with the fuel hoses and checking the instruments. The main bay doors were guarded by Casablancas and Fab, while Valensi had taken position in an upper catwalk, overseeing everything. Matt and Jamie were hovering at the personnel doors, having a silent conversation. Every now and again, however, Jamie’s eyes would sail upwards and find Alex, causing Alex to catch his breath and quickly look away. Miles stood straight suddenly, and cleared his throat, and then pulled his arms from where they were looped around Alex. 

Alex’s hand drifted down to Miles’ in question, and Miles leaned back in for another quick kiss, this one to Alex’s cheek. “I need to talk to Cook,” was all he said, and then he he was gone, sailing down the metal staircase and crossing the glossy cement of the hangar floor on his way to where Jamie stood with Matt. 

Alex watched with baited breath, his heart having leapt in his throat when Miles announced he was going to talk to Jamie. For a moment, Miles spoke with both Matt and Jamie, and then Matt nodded and moved towards the stairs that Miles had just descended, and began to climb. Then, Miles moved Jamie closer to the door, and moved so that their heads were close together in conversation. 

“How you holdin’ up?” Matt settled on the railing next to Alex. 

Alex shrugged. “M’fine, I suppose. Could be better.” 

Matt was silent for a moment. Then, “You thinkin’ about... _him_?” 

“‘Him’ _who_?” Alex asked icily. 

Matt heaved a sigh. “Homme,” he muttered. 

“M’tryin’ not to.” 

“You know, he might not even be there.” 

Alex snorted and looked at Matt doubtfully. “He’ll be there.” 

“What are you gonna do?” 

Alex seemed to contemplate this rather deeply, frowning and chewing at his lip as he watched the last few inches of his cigarette burn down. “Hopefully I won’t have to do anything.” 

“You think you can avoid him?” 

“He wouldn’t...not with Miles-” 

“Miles was in the same fucking house when he-” 

Alex snapped his gaze to Matt, his eyes brittle obsidian as he narrowed them dangerously. “You think I don’t remember that?” Alex growled. “You think I’d forget that Homme fucking...fucking _raped_ me in my own home, Matthew? With Miles right above our heads?” 

Matt’s face burned and he clenched his jaw. “That’s _exactly_ my point!” 

With a frustrated sound, Alex glared down at the hangar again. “It’s not gonna happen again. I _won’t_ let it happen again. I’ll never be alone with him again. Hell, Miles will barely let me out of his sight these days.” 

“Well, you have done some stupid shit in the last week. You wanna tell me what happened, or are we gonna pretend that bruise on your jaw doesn’t exist?” 

Alex shrugged his shoulder up to his jaw and turned away, embarrassed. “I brought it on myself,” he mumbled. 

__“Don’t,” Matt sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t say that. You don’t believe that Alex, you can’t.”_ _

Alex fell silent, eyes trained on Miles and Jamie, until suddenly they slipped out the personnel door. At that moment Alex stood straight and sniffed, and then dragged his fingers back over his hair before squaring his shoulders and turning to Matt. “So, what needs doin’?” 

Matt stared at Alex in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

Alex snorted, and his lip curled halfway between a smile, and a sneer. “Homme. I’m gonna kill the bastard.” 

“Wait, what?” Matt yelped incredulously. 

“Don’t you get, Matthew? It’s now or never - I couldn’t do anything before, he made certain of that. Kicked me when I was down, when Miles couldn’t protect me, when there was no one else, when I was nothing else. Now I’m...different.” 

“Different,” Matt echoed hollowly. “What, because Cook got you to shoot some bottles and you didn’t miss?” 

Alex growled and his hands caught Matt’s jacket, hauling him roughly in place. “No!” He hissed. “Because I’m not that person anymore. I can’t be that person anymore, Matthew, I’ll die if I am. So I need to kill him, right?” 

“Killing Homme - Alex, it’s not that easy, killing _anyone_ , no matter what they’ve done.” 

“Then what better practice,” Alex grinned wolfishly, “than killing the big bad himself?” 

Matt stared hard at Alex. “Homme is the least of your problems.” His eyes strayed once more to the bruising at Alex’s jaw and mouth. 

“It’s a start,” Alex replied softly, turning to look back at the hangar. 

Matt opened his mouth to beg for clarification but he was violently cut off by the sudden rattle and pop of gunfire. All at once the hangar lit up, and Valensi came sailing down from his perch, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he spoke into his earpiece rapidly. Down below Casablancas and Fab flew into action, their pistols out as they barked orders and took cover behind whatever they could find. Before Alex could react beyond gripping the railing and ducking, Matt slammed into him, ploughing him to the platform and covering him with his body as best he could. Every shot, every _ping, pop_ , and _bang_ made Alex jerk violently, and he lifted his head where it was wedged under Matt’s armpit to gasp - 

“ _Miles_!” 

\+ 

_20 minutes earlier_

“Go up and see what’s eatin’ Alex, yeah?” Miles nodded at Helders, and Helders obeyed with without question. It left Cook standing and watching Miles closely as he lit a cigarette and casually puffed away on it. 

“Let me ask you somethin’,” Miles began, exhaling a plume of smoke. He waited for Cook to nod before he continued. “What do you know about Jesse Hughes?” 

Cook’s attention was snared, and he stood a little straighter. “Not much. Jack-of-all trades type, always for hire, bit of a low-life, really. He’s got his nose in everyone’s business.” 

Miles hummed and nodded, a stream of smoke exiting his nostrils. “Can he be trusted?” 

Slowly, Jamie shook his head. “No.” 

With another nod, Miles smoked in silence. 

“Why are you asking?” Cook suddenly asked. 

Dropping his spent cigarette, Miles crushed it under the heel of his shoe and smiled wanly. “He’s looking for a new paycheque. Says he’s got information that could be valuable to me.” 

“He’s slippery,” Cook muttered, glancing back out over the tarmac, watching the lights of the small runway flickery. “His last employer was Homme, from what I understand.” 

Miles conceded with a grunt and a nod. “Do you expect trouble where we’re goin?” 

“Sir?” 

“I need to know if I’m walkin’ into something, Cook,” Miles muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. He began pacing a small patch of blacktop. “I need to know if there are any issues with loyalties that I should be aware of. You worked for Barat for a long time. What should I expect?” 

Cook let out a breath and furrowed his brow. “He’s flighty. He’s eccentric. He’s loyal to a fault when it comes to his family, but he’s not afraid to kill a man for his jacket, you know? Arms dealing is a walk in the park for him; he takes his meetings at fancy restaurants and sidewalk cafes, and isn’t afraid to get his hands bloody. You want my honest opinion? Expect the unexpected when it comes to Barat. Don’t let your guard down.” 

Throughout Cook’s speech, Miles nodded, his face a mask of neutrality. When Cook finished, Miles turned a curious eye on him. “You speaking from experience?” He watched as those blue eyes narrowed, and the jaw hardened. Miles had struck a nerve and waited for Cook’s reply. 

“He deals with things as they come,” Cook finally replied. “He’s impulsive, and he has little remorse.” His voice turned brittle and ragged. “Even for those caught in the crossfire.” 

Those final words struck a nerve with Miles and he nodded faintly. “What about-” 

“Hold on,” Cook muttered, pushing away from the wall where he leaned. He looked out into the inky black of night, head cocked as if listening. Then, before he could react, headlights blazed to life, throwing their beams directly into their eyes as a car tore towards them on the asphalt. Cook hissed and turned away, and Miles did the same, watching as Cook reached into his jacket for his gun. 

The car screeched to a halt, and the doors swung open. Shoes scuffed over the asphalt, and Miles was just closing his fingers around his gun when Cook knocked him to the ground behind him, and opened fire, taking out the headlights. Behind them, gunfire shook the night, bullets ricocheting off of the sheet metal siding of the hangar. The main lights shattered in spray of glass and sparks, throwing the scene into darkness. Voices erupted and Cook barked out orders in his earpiece as he deftly took out three men, all armed to the teeth. Crouched down behind Cook, Miles swung his SIG up and he rounded towards the hangar, firing at another two figures creeping in the shadows. 

“Valensi, what’s your status?” Cook demanded, reaching down to heave Kane to his feet and move towards the hangar. 

“Six down - shit, make it seven,” Valensi reported back. “Fuck, they’re _everywhere_. Hold your position, find cover, Cook, we’ve got it squared here. Keep Kane safe.” 

Growling, Cook hustled himself and Miles back against the siding of the hangar. The gunshots had died off and Jamie took the opportunity to press his finger to his lips and indicate to Miles that he was approaching the vehicle, where another shooter swore under his breath as he reloaded. Miles nodded shakily, but trained his gun at the vehicle, ready to cover Cook if needed. 

More shots were fired, and Cook swore sharply, “ _Fuck_!” as he rolled into a ball and crouched at the wheel well of the front driver’s side. He looked to Miles for the position of the shooter, to which Miles swung his gaze left, and down. Nodding, Cook checked his chamber, slithered to his belly, and aimed his shot under the body of the car. Two bullets tore through the foot of the shooter on the other side, a spray of blood and cursing painting the night. The shooter’s gun clattered against the asphalt as he collapsed. Cook took no chances, and fired another bullet, this one digging into the shooter’s side with enough force to roll them to their back. Scrambling to his feet, Jamie rounded the front bumper as Kane came away from the building, his gun trained in case the shooter rolled again. All at once the emergency lighting of the hangar flared brightly, and Miles beat Jamie to where the shooter lay in a rapidly forming pool of blood. 

It was Hughes. 

Miles’ eyes widened and he roared as he pounced, landing on the man’s chest, gun held in one hand while his other formed a fist and rained down blows. The bruises he’d put on the man a week prior were beginning to fade, and it only ignited Miles’ fury. Cook bolted around and caught Kane’s next punch, pulling the slender man back with a shout. Hughes sputtered blood and laughed, the sound turning ugly and gurgled as his lungs began to flood. 

“Who was it?” Miles hissed, his hands wrapping Hughes’ collar and hauling him up from the pavement. “Who signed the order, the cheque - _who, goddammit_?” 

Hughes coughed, and laughed again, and Miles shook out of Jamie’s hold to press the barrel of his gun to Hughes’ forehead with a growl. 

“ _Tell me_!” He roared as his finger slid over the trigger. 

“Fuck,” Hughes sputtered, his eyes rolling back. “I dunno, Kane, what’s in it for me?” he rasped, blood dribbling down his chin. 

“It’ll be quick,” Miles offered. “You’re on your way out, Hughes, punctured lung; there’s no coming back. You’ll bleed out here, your lungs will collapse, and you’ll slowly suffocate. Tell me who wants me dead so badly.” 

“I ain’t goin’ to hell on my own,” Hughes lamented. His head lolled back, neck rubbery, and Miles lowered him to the asphalt, gun still pressed to his forehead. “Homme,” Hughes spat, grinning madly once more. “Homme ordered the hit in Chicago. Now I’m just trying to get paid.” 

Miles released a breath, part in surprise, and part in recognition. He’d somehow known all along, really, but perhaps he wasn’t ready to admit that he’d let the devil in his own home. Behind him, Cook muttered into his earpiece, and in the distance, the very first wails of sirens swelled in the darkness. 

“Mr. Kane, we need to get moving,” Cook announced. 

Miles nodded and slowly drew his gun back, much to Hughes confusion. He screwed his face up with a grimace, and whined. “Kane, bloody _do_ it - shoot me, come on, man, don’t leave me here to bleed out - you said you’d do it!” 

Miles sneered as he stood, straightening his jacket and replacing the SIG in his shoulder holster. “I changed me mind,” he replied, winking as he stepped away, and turned towards the hangar. “Cook, we’ve a plane to catch,” he called over his shoulder as he jogged towards the hangar, where the crew were busy finalizing preparations. 

“Kane!” Hughes gurgled, before he groaned and his fingers numbly scrabbled over the asphalt, reaching for his gun once more. “ _Kane_!” 

Jamie’s foot caught the butt and sent the weapon skittering under the car. Hughes whimpered again and narrowed his gaze up at the blond. “C’mon, Cook. I _know_ you, you wouldn’t leave me here to bleed out.” 

Jamie’s face remained neutral as he crouched near Hughes’ head and reached into the dying man’s leather jacket. There he withdrew a leather case and opened it, the gold plate of an LAPD badge flashing in the light. “Was it worth it?” Jamie murmured, placing the badge on Hughes’ chest before standing. He held Hughes’ dying stare as he reached into his jacket and closed his fingers around a silencer barrel. When it was screwed into place on the Ruger, Jamie raised the gun and fired, ending Hughes’ wayward life. 

\+ 

Jamie entered the hangar in time to see Alex stagger down the steps and fall bonelessly into Kane’s embrace. The smaller man held Kane tightly, and Jamie made an effort to look away, but not before Alex’s eyes met his over Kane’s shoulder. There was a wildness there, the kind of determination a bird of prey has as it sits and waits for the time to dive. Kane was murmuring something into Alex’s ear and then he stood and kissed the man soundly, before turning to address Jamie. 

“You’re good, Cook,” Kane conceded with a pert nod. “Finally living up to your reputation.” The nervous energy that had surrounded Kane at their first meeting, and lingered since, seemed to have lifted, like a fog. 

Jamie nodded once, stiffly, and then watched as Kane gathered Alex under his arm and ushered him aboard the jet. In eight hours they’d be across the Atlantic Ocean. His gaze swung to Kane and Alex once more as he seated himself, and he watched as they leaned towards one another, barely unable to keep their hands off of one another. The blond looked away, his guts twisting. Nothing like a brush with death to push you back into a lover’s embrace, no matter how dangerous. Leaning forward and snagged the bottle of whiskey from Fab’s hand and took a healthy swig. 

“Jesus,” Fab muttered, elbowing Valensi in the process. 

Jamie ignored them and took another swallow. 

Beside him Casablancas pried the bottle away, and then reached into his own jacket to procure a bottle of Ambien. “Sleep it off, Cook,” Casablancas growled. “ _Don’t_ go barking up that tree again.” 

With a huff, Jamie swallowed two tablets with another mouthful of whiskey. _Fuck Casablancas and his meddling. Fuck Kane and his fucking ego trip. Fuck Alex. Fuck Italy_. 

_Fuck Alex_. 

Jamie groaned. 

_Get it together, Cook_ , he told himself. _Or one day, you’re gonna end up just like Hughes_.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that croc pit tag?
> 
> Buckle up kids.
> 
> (extra hugs and thanks for Stanzie during this last...oh, almost year. Here we are at the end of what we informally refer to as 'Volume One', This has been a wild ride so far, and I can't wait to dig into the second half. <3)

_Capri, Italy_

_The Doherty_ was a one hundred and forty foot yacht ensigned from France, boasting computerized sails, an automated weather station, digital compass, and a total of twenty one rooms. Eight of those were bedrooms; a pool, a sauna, luxury kitchen, a parlour, an entertainment room, five bathrooms, a small library, and a private deck off of the master suite which was where Carl ‘Black Cat’ Barât was currently holding court, welcoming at last a long lost friend and his entourage, rounded out the living spaces of the yacht. The hull and decks were painted glossy black, unusual for a Mediterranean cruising yacht, but if there was one thing Black Cat Barât enjoyed, it was making himself known.

“ _Benvenuto_!” The charismatic Frenchman crowed, the salt air lifting the ends of his dark hair and whipping them across his face. He pushed them aside as an afterthought and continued. “Miles, it really has been too long since we’ve seen you,” Barât declared, bright blue eyes sparkling like the Tyrrhenian Sea surrounding them. The arms dealer enjoyed speaking of himself in third person, one of his many quirks. Lighting a cigarillo, he then grabbed up the bottle of champagne he’d had waiting on ice, and presented it. “This calls for a celebration - your first trip to our dismal little Capri,” he chuckled, before glancing towards Alex, “and for bringing such wonderful company.” 

It took a moment for Alex to realize that Barât was indeed referring to him. He’d more or less been in a trance since they’d landed in Naples. Perhaps it was the brevity in which Homme’s presence on the island struck him - in the air, up in the clouds, it was easy to forget, especially with what had happened in New York. After he’d checked and rechecked that Miles was unharmed, he’d let the lanky Scouser take him to the bedroom at the back of the plane. There they’d indulged in cocaine and champagne and rough, adrenaline-fueled sex. When the novelty and the drugs had worn off, Alex drifted on the bed for a while, until they caught up with sunrise and their final descent into Naples was announced. The severity of the situation cut through him like a razor, and though he’d been bleary eyed, he’d also been painfully alert, to the point where he’d been distracted with his own anxiety.

Under the hot, Amalfi sunshine Alex felt his face flame and he quickly looked to Miles for reassurance. The Scouser was grinning, of course, always so proud when someone noticed his taste in companion. Placing an arm around Alex’s shoulder, Miles laughed, and dropped a kiss to Alex’s temple.

“Surprised you recognize him,” Miles drawled, his hand lifting from Alex’s shoulder to comb forward the short, dark locks of Alex’s hair. “Went and chopped all that hair off.”

Barât widened his eyes in jest, and put a hand over his heart. “ _Mon dieu_ , here I thought you’d let little Alexander go. _Mais_ , of course not, not him,” Barât sang, shaking his head. “What a gorgeous creature behind all that hair. Hello, Alexander.” Barât winked, and gave a little bow.

“Alex,” Alex hastily corrected, when he’d found his voice. “Not...not Alexander.” He quickly reached for the comb he’d taken to stashing in his back pocket and smoothed his hair out as best he could with Miles still hanging off of him. He felt Miles stiffen at the tone of his voice, and his face burned even more as those sharp hazel eyes focused on him.

Barât, however, seemed unruffled, and rather more amused at Alex’s short outburst, than insulted. He nodded and then put his hand out for Alex to shake. Alex took it after an insistent glare from Miles, and he shook it cordially, though Barât’s lingering thumb was more than congenial. Alex snatched his hand away and stuffed it into the pocket of his trousers and looked away - anywhere but at Barât or Miles.

He found Jamie. He couldn’t be certain that Jamie was looking at him, what with the dark lenses of his sunglasses revealing nothing more than a reflection of Casablancas, who stood to his left. Alex lifted the corner of his mouth anyway to see if there was a reaction. The blond’s face remained stoic, but he suddenly turned to Valensi on his other side, and muttered a string of words to which Valensi nodded before excusing himself.

Barât noticed the departure and pouted as his thumb worked swiftly, jabbing at the cork and sending it snapping from the bottle to sail to the water, while champagne foamed up and out of the bottle’s neck. “Valensi’s always running off, ruining the party,” Barât sighed, moving to fill champagne glasses and hand them out. He froze halfway extending a glass to Jamie, cocking his head. “Are you drinking, Cook? Or are you on the wagon this month?”

“It’s barely eleven in the morning,” Jamie answered wryly.

Barât shrugged. “Noon in Athens, yes?” He laughed, and handed the glass intended for Jamie to Fab, who took it with a smile. “Tell me, Miles, _mon frere_ , has Cook loosened up at all going Stateside? He was such a bore here the last few months. Walked around here very dark and brooding. Wasn’t any fun at all. Though I suppose a broken heart will do that to a man.”

Fab choked on the mouthful of champagne he’d just taken, and turned around to cough. Casablancas stared down into his glass for several seconds while Jamie remained stone-faced. Alex didn’t dare breathe, and looked at Barât whose expression he couldn’t decipher.

“Cook’s a deadly shot,” Miles offered, taking a sip of champagne and reaching across to clap Jamie on the shoulder as he grinned. “Found ourselves in a bit of a wild-west scenario in New York. As you can see, we all made it here in one piece.”

Barât hummed, and poured himself the last of the champagne. “Yes. Loyal to the bitter end, aren’t you, James? When it serves you.”

There was an unforgiving silence that stretched in the moments after Barât stopped talking. The hum of the engines, and the lapping of waves were the only other sounds before Barât’s laughter barked and cut through the tension like a buzzsaw. “ _C’est vrai_ , no one handles the dirty work quite like you, Cook.” Then, Barât was turning to the open ocean, his arms spread wide as he spat poetry about the beauty of the sea, and her treachery.

As he was steered towards the railing by Miles, Alex stole another glance of Jamie, but he’d already turned and headed after Valensi. At a nudge from Miles, Alex tuned into Barât’s speech. An errant wave slapped the side of the yacht, sending a spray of warm salt water up, the smallest flecks landing on the surface of Alex’s sunglasses. He shivered despite the warmth of the man beside him, and the blazing sun baking his skin brown from overhead. He forced another smile when Miles looked at him expectantly, and drained his champagne as _The Doherty_ crept closer to an uneasiness in his blood.

+

“Did you get a hold of Meighan?” Jamie asked as he entered the main control room of the yacht. Tom Meighan was the year-round guard on Capri, a caretaker of sorts, but deadly with a blade in his hand.

Stationed at the radio, Valensi nodded as he fiddled with the frequency knob. “He’s been on alert since I radioed in the events in New York.”

“And Homme is there?”

Nodding again, Valensi sat up and eyed Jamie warily. “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t so much a vacation, as Mr. Kane put it?”

“As far as everyone else is concerned, it still is. Hughes, and the attempt on Kane’s life before we left New York, is still relatively unknown. More importantly, the fact that Homme ordered the hit hasn’t been announced.” 

“You ever stop to wonder why no one else seems to know about it? I mean for all we know, Clarke could have ordered that hit.”

Jamie shook his head. “If Clarke wanted Kane dead, he’d be dead, and he wouldn’t leave it for someone like Homme to do the job. Homme hired someone else to pull the trigger. With enough convincing those two that managed to survive in New York were rather forthcoming with just who exactly they were working for. They named Homme before they were silenced by the ground team there.” Rubbing a hand over his mouth, Jamie closed his eyes for a moment to think. He opened his eyes again and focused on Valensi. “Look, we need to keep this to ourselves until we figure out what the fuck is going on. I don’t want to raise any alarms before we have a plan in place. Barât knows that shots were fired in Chicago, and in New York, but he doesn’t know who made the call. Let’s keep it that way.”

Valensi’s blue-green eyes widened a fraction. “I don’t like not keeping Barât informed-”

“You don’t work for Barât anymore,” Jamie said icily. “You work for Kane. We deal for Kane, we keep him safe.”

“Yeah, but who’s to say what will keep Homme from making his next move here? Carlos-”

Jamie stepped towards Valensi, stooping down so that he was nose to nose with the man. “In case you haven’t noticed, _Nick_ , Kane is vicious when it comes to loyalty. He’s obsessed with it, seeks it out of every person who would align themselves with him. I know your friendship with Barât is close, but we’re talking about your life. I don’t think Kane is the man he once was. An attempt has been made on his life _twice_. He’s not playing anymore. Or, he’d like to think that way, anyway.”

Jerking back from Jamie’s face, Valensi growled and glared down at the instrument panel he was drumming with his fingers. “What’s going on, Cook? You disappeared into that back office with Kane for the remainder of the flight here.” He looked back at Jamie, studying the man who had taken a step back to lean against the main steering dash, a troubled expression on his features. Valensi sighed. “Please tell me this isn’t about Katie. Look, what happened to her was awful, but she was collateral damage. Wrong place, wrong time - girls like her meet an untimely end in places like this-”

“Girls like _her_?” Jamie asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

“You know the type - young, impressionable, naive, caught up in the excitement of fast money and as much cocaine as they can get at.” He paused then and quirked an eyebrow. “Not unlike young Mr. Turner.” He saw a flicker of something thread through Jamie’s glacial gaze, and he leapt on it. “You’re falling for him, aren’t you? Can’t help but be a savior, eh, James?”

“You’re reaching,” Jamie uttered lowly.

“Am I? Look, you want to talk about loyalty to Kane, fine, I’m all ears. But you should take a look in the mirror and ask yourself what you’re really trying to achieve here: saving Kane’s ass, or Turner’s.”

Jamie glanced out of panoramic windows of the control room, watching as the island of Capri loomed closer and closer. It would be another hour at least until they berthed on the south side of the island at the private dock secured to the base of the island, ninety steps below Barât’s home that perched on the edge and overlooked the sea. Valensi had a point, though Jamie wasn’t about to tell him that. His gaze cut back to the sharp-shooter.

“Our top priority is Kane,” Jamie declared with finality. His next words, however, sounded fake even to him. “Turner merely has the benefit of proximity.” He pushed off of the instrument panel and moved towards the stairs that would lead to the small observation deck above. 

+

 

Jamie found Kane on the observation deck, smoking a cigarette, his lean features drawn in thought. Glancing about, he made note that Alex was nowhere to be seen, and that in fact, they were very much alone out here in the heat and the ocean air.

“Is he there?” Kane drawled, leaning on the railing and letting smoke trail from his nostrils.

Jamie nodded and stepped forward. “Valensi’s contacted the main guard at the house. Homme has been there since this morning.”

Kane made a sound and turned back to the ocean. “Am I risking too much? Taking him out, I mean.”

“It’s hard to keep secrets on an island that’s only ten square kilometers.”

Lifting a lean shoulder in indifference, Kane pouted. “People fall - some of those cliffs are what - five, maybe six hundred meters? I’m sure it happens all the time. Bodies get lost at sea, broken up on the rocks below…” here, Kane paused, and grinned coldly. “Shark bait, eh?”

“The current is strong enough that the body would be washed ashore - or into the _Grotta Azzurra_ with the change of the tide.” Jamie shook his head. “You’d have better luck burying the body in one of Barât’s gardens.”

Kane laughed, and nodded, and flicked his cigarette out into the sea. “Now, that’s not a half bad idea. Pushing up daisies, eh?” He fell silent for a moment, and then shook his head. “Doesn’t seem like the type of finish he’s deserving of.”

Jamie raised an eyebrow in question. Kane pushed off the railing and began to pace the small space of the deck. “I need something...elaborate. Poetic. I need to send a message.” He paused and looked directly at Jamie. “I let him into my house, the slithering beast, and he lied about his loyalty. He disrespected me in my own home. In front of my men. Do you see that?” Kane waited for Jamie to nod, and then continued. “This all started because I set out to bring him down from the inside - because I know I can do his job better than he can. That scared him.”

Jamie listened with half an ear, detecting the manic rhythm of words and breathing overtaking Kane. He’d encountered enough megalomaniacs in his line of work to recognize the making of one. Kane had always been ambitious, but he seemed to lack motivation. An attempt on his life seemed to give him that. As Kane’s voice rose in intensity, Jamie was struck with another thought: he wasn’t sure if Kane was trying to convince him, or convince himself that this was the best course of action.

Movement on the lower deck, at the bow of the ship, caught Jamie’s attention. It was Alex, crossing the deck towards the railing, wind lifting his hair from the carefully combed quiff, and Matt was close behind him. While he couldn’t hear what was being said, they both appeared tense, and Alex raked a hand over his hair and spun towards Matt, his features twisted in anger as he held a finger out and jabbed the air as he spoke.

“...is more the type of thing to satisfy me.”

Kane was talking again, and Jamie turned his attention towards the Scouser. In turn, the Scouser was watching Jamie closely, and peered over the deck to see what had caught his attention. Alex and Matt were toe-to-toe, both of them red in the face, and it was clear that their conversation was heated. “Christ, he’s just pissin’ everybody off today.” With a groan, Kane rubbed a hand over his face. “What am I gonna do with him, eh?” He stared a moment longer and then straightened, smoothing his hands over the linen suit jacket he wore as he smiled at Jamie. “So, what do you think?”

“Sir?” Jamie replied cautiously.

Kane snorted and rolled his eyes. “I see the events of the last twenty-four hours have you distracted as well. Homme, Cook. I think I know how I’m going to go about this.”

“And are you going to fill us in?”

Kane shook his head, teeth gleaming as he grinned wolfishly. “All in due time. First, I need to talk to Helders.” As if on cue, the ex-boxer turned where he stood below and craned his neck, glancing up to the deck where Jamie and Kane stood. Kane made a motion with his head and Helders nodded, turning back to Alex to say something before he left the boy at the railing. Then, Kane turned to Jamie. “Follow my lead. And be ready for anything.”

+

“I want to kill him. I’m serious, Matthew. With my own two hands if necessary.”

Helders looked up from where he was mixing a margarita for Alex and quickly glanced around the kitchen, confirming that they were the only two present in the galley kitchen of the yacht. Setting the stainless steel mixer over the glass tumbler, Helders repeatedly shook the concoction of ice, tequila, triple sec, and lime, and uttered, “You’ve fookin’ lost it.”

“Have I?” Alex drawled, challenging Helders with a look.

Helders’ jaw ticked and he pressed his mouth into a hard line as he twisted the shaker open and strained the contents into the glass he’d set before Alex. “Don’t joke about this, Alex. All right? This is serious shit: you kill Homme and Mlies is going to want to know why.”

The last phrase seemed to pull Alex out of his violent fantasy and he blinked slowly at Helders before he raised the glass and took a sip. “It doesn’t have to be obvious who done it, Matthew,” Alex growled. “He’s fucking Joshua Homme, you think I’m the only person on this island that wants him dead?”

Helders shook his head again. “You’re crazy. You’re fooling yourself if you think you can do this-”

“I can do this, Matthew. I...I tried once, before...that day we came home from the Marriott. Packed Miles’ pea-shooter into the back of me trousers and walked into the house thinking I were something I obviously wasn’t.”

Snarling, Helders pushed away from the counter where he leaned and rounded the counter to be on Alex’s side. “See? Right there - you’ve just confirmed it; you had a chance, you didn’t take it, what makes now any different?”

Alex’s eyes narrowed and he set his glass down with a hollow _thunk_. “M’not that _boy_ anymore, Matthew.”

“Don’t you remember what I said in New York? This is _dangerous_ Alex, not some game where you line ‘em up and take em down one at a time.”

“You of all people should know just how dangerous I realize this is,” Alex replied. “But I have to - I have to do it, Matthew, he tried to kill Miles in Chicago _and_ for what he did to-” Alex drew up short and shook his head as if clearing it. “For what he’s done in the past.” He stood abruptly and stalked out of the kitchen, Helders hot on his heels.

“I can’t let you do this,” Helders growled, reaching out and snagging Alex’s elbow. “ _I won’t_.”

Alex shook Helders off and stalked across the deck towards the railing at the bow. Here the spray from the ocean was more aggressive, and the sound of water crashing against the hull, and the wind whistling, drowned out most other sounds. Still, he heard Helders call his name and Alex stopped short and whirled around, stalking back to him.

“I’m not asking your permission, Helders,” Alex stated icily, throwing a finger up for emphasis. “I’m asking you to keep this to yourself.”

Helders paused at the sound of his last name on Alex’s lips, and he drew up short and held his breath. “You’re putting me in a precarious position,” he muttered.

Alex sighed, some of the edge wearing down at the sound of Helders’ strained voice. “I need this, all right? If I’m ever supposed to be unafraid again...I need to do this. I need things back the way they were before.”

The naivety in Alex’s voice broke Helders’ heart, but he nodded stiffly, and then escorted him to the railing, where they stood in silence for a while. Alex smoked, and Helders watched, very much aware of Kane and Cook above them on the upper deck. He cast a backwards glance to the two men, and caught the attention of Kane, who motioned with a tick of his head for Helders to join him inside. “So, that’s your plan?” Helders asked after he’d nodded to Kane and turned back to Alex. “That’s gonna make things go back to normal?”

Alex swung wide, startled eyes towards Helders, as if what he were saying were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve a better idea?”

Helders sighed and nodded once more, and then pushed off the railing. “Miles needs me - I won’t say anything to him about this, I wouldn’t do that. But I’ll say this to you: if you’re gunning for Homme, make sure you finish it. I don’t think he’ll let you live this time.”

+

_“C’mon, baby, what’s not to love? There’s sand, there’s the salt air, romantic little grottos, limoncello-”_

_“You’ll excuse me if I’m less than excited about the company we keep - present company excluded, of course.”_

_Katie Downes smiled brightly up at Jamie Cook, her blonde hair a mass of wreath braids and long waves that reached down past the middle of her back. In her little white peasant blouse and barely-there cutoff shorts that showed off her tanned legs, she was easily any man’s dream girl. More importantly, she was Jamie’s, and he couldn’t help but smile down at her and feel himself swayed by her sunshine._

_“Ja-mie,” she sang sweetly, curling her fingers in his and tugging him up the gangway that bridged The Doherty to the dock bolted into the rocks. “It’s Carlos - he’s more about looking good than anything else. I mean, how long have you worked for him?”_

_“Long enough,” Jamie muttered, dodging a precise answer. “It’s just...an island, Katie. Deserted.”_

_She laughed again and shook her head and started up the first of the ninety steps that would take her up the cliff face to the villa perched above. “Hardly that,” she sighed, leaning against the railing and arching her foot on the stone. It caused her leg to arch and her supple thigh to flex, the hem of her shorts riding up. The neckline of her blouse slipped dangerously low, showing the tanned curve of her small breast, the hint of dusky pink surrounding her nipple. Jamie was propelled forward, by his dick more than his common sense, and he pinned the slip of a girl against the railing and kissed her soundly. “Hmmm,” she purred, curling her fingers into his long hair. “But I know of a few places here that we can sneak away to...undiscovered for days.” Her blue eyes sparkled like the waters they’d just crossed._

The railing under Jamie’s hand shook violently, and he glanced up to see Fab and Valensi crowded on the stairs above him, both acting like idiots and threatening to knock the other one off. Forced from his memories, the blond let out a quick huff of air and tightened his grip, and tried to ignore the fact that a cold sweat had started on his back.

“You all right?” Casablancas murmured from somewhere behind Jamie.

“Five by five,” Jamie replied, glancing back up to the villa and resuming his climb.

He wasn’t entirely honest with Casablancas, but he wasn’t entirely honest with himself, either. The last time he’d climbed these steps had been that first time with Katie - the way back to Naples after... _after_...had been via the Marina Grande, amidst the Naples Police Department and their Naval Unit. After a lot of cash had passed hands, and a lot more favours had been called in, Black Cat Barât and his men had made quiet passage to France, and laid low for the winter. When Barât had made plans to return the following summer, Jamie had breathed a sigh of relief when his wife, Edie, had announced she was spending the summer in the south of France. Being the gentleman that he was, Barât insisted that some of his men escorted her, Jamie being one of them.

“You’re starting to worry me, Cook,” Cas continued lowly, shooting a warning glance to Fab and Valensi. The two stopped their carousing and continued up the stairs. Between them and Cook and Casablancas, Barât, Kane, and Alex took the middle spot, and Barât’s jovial commentary could be heard in snippets as the wind carried it down the stairwell.

“I’ve told you already, Cas, I’m fine.”

“Sure, okay, that why you’re white as a ghost and hanging onto that railing like you’re going to your doom?”

Jamie sneered at Cas and glanced above, ensuring that Barât, Kane, and Alex, were well on their way. Then, he turned back to Cas. “Look, I’ll admit that being back here is stirring certain...memories. I’m not a machine. But I will tell you right here and now that my conscious and my conviction remain sound. I’m here to do a job.”

“About that,” Cas replied, leaning against the railing and lighting a cigarette. “Kane’s gonna try for Homme, isn’t he?”

“I think he’s beyond ‘trying’ at this point,” Jamie said gruffly. “No, Cas, I think Kane is definitely going to kill him.”

“Does Clarke know?” Cas asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you think?”

“I’m thinking of myself, and having a job at the end of all of this. If Kane goes against Clarke and we know about it?” The tall brunet paused and whistled lowly, and shook his head. “It’s risky.”

“What do you want me to do, Cas? Step in and say, ‘Sorry, Mr. Kane, but Clarke would be awfully let down if you killed this man who tried to take your life twice’?”

“C’mon, Hughes’ word on the matter isn’t worth his salt - especially now that he’s in cold storage somewhere.”

“It was Homme,” Jamie muttered tensely.

Cas pushed off the railing and peered down at Jamie. “How can you be so sure?”

Jamie quickly looked up and shook his hair from his eyes. “Those two we had the ground crew take in back in New York. They had some value left; Valensi was smart enough to shoot their knees out. They were known men - Homme’s men. If Clarke has a problem with it, then I’ll deal with it. I’ll tell them you three didn’t know.”

“You sure you want that responsibility?”

“What have I got to lose?”

Cas’s gaze trailed up the stairs and lingered for a moment before he looked back at Jamie. “Careful with that mindset, Cook. Didn’t end well the last time.”

Jamie opened his mouth to counter the blow, but Cas was already pushing past him and heading up the stairs. Below him _The Doherty_ bobbed placidly in the calm waters of the private bay. Taking a last look out to the seemingly endless sea, Jamie once more began climbing the stairs, ignoring the warning flare set out by his heart.

+

The garden, it seemed, would become Alex’s place of escape.

It overlooked the ocean, an open canopy to the sky, thrust upwards by the white sandstone columns that seemed to litter the island. Though they were likely carved in the last century, they held a dramatic flair of the bronze age, and he smiled a bit as his hand cupped the sun-warm stone and slid over a smooth curve, glancing up at the way the vines curled up and into the tendrils that wove overhead. The fat blooms of purple dahlias swayed in the breeze on long stems; they seemed to curve to the sun, folded in the shade and open to the light. Up here the air was cool, and somewhere seabirds called to one another. 

He could very easily get used to this; Barât had always been a generous host but the apartments in Paris were trimmed for business, dark leathers, expensive wood, brass fittings everywhere. Here on the island it seemed there was a woman’s touch, that of Edie, no doubt, and perhaps a few others, friends and lovers of friends and lovers. The villa was modest compared to the penthouse in France, but it was still large, open and friendly in its construction. There wasn’t much for doors or windows; everything seemed to be open air, from the bedrooms to the plaza, the terraced courtyards and of course, here in one of the many gardens. It was like wandering into a dream, if Alex allowed himself a slip of romanticism. He did so rather indulgently, and felt somewhat giddy at the prospect of staying here for a spell.

He only needed to kill the beast at the door.

_“Here we are, then,” Barât announced, opening his arms in the front entry of the villa and spinning around with a placid grin. “Welcome, welcome, come in - boys, you know your way around, you need no tour,” he motioned to Casablancas, Fab, Valensi, and Jamie, “I’ve done you all the courtesy of airing out your regular rooms. Matthew, you’re squared away there, as well. I’ll have Cas show you to your room.”_

_Alex took note then that while the other three seemed unfettered by the announcement, Jamie’s jaw tightened. He said nothing, and Alex’s curiosity was steeped - it had been doing so since the crossing from Naples, Barât’s cryptic barbs hooking into Jamie’s usual cool exterior. Though the blond fought his best to maintain his exterior, his neck had flushed, and Alex had no doubt that behind those sunglasses, those blue eyes were blazing._

_“Miles, **mon ami** , you and your lovely Alexan -” Barât flashed Alex a playful smile and gave a little bow. “Excuse me, Alex, are in the room off the garden. Your bags are already there; I’ll show you in due time, but first, maybe something to eat? I’ve had a light lunch prepared, set the tables in the olive groves on the north side. It will be cooler there.” As he spoke he motioned for Miles and Alex to follow him, and he led them through the house, pointing out the sitting room, the white, arching hallway leading to their rooms, and those of the other men, and then they stepped down into a sunken parlour, the walls cut away and letting in the fragrant breeze from one of what Alex was to discover several gardens._

_Cutting out into the open air again, and around to the north side of the house, they came upon the shady grove Barât had described, and a long table laid and set with wine, olives, and boards of cheeses, meats, bread, grapes, and various types of citrus. Half a dozen men lingered in the space, chatting quietly. A few faces were recognizable, but when Alex spotted Shuman lurking among the cyprus, he froze where he was and scanned the garden._

_“Well, well,” a voice slithered over Alex’s shoulder. “Look what Black Cat dragged in.”_

Alex stepped to the ledge that overlooked the ocean directly, and wound an arm around the column, stepping up onto the stone bench to stare down at the waves crashing below. He’d been here before, perched on this ledge, torn between ending one life, or the other, but this time he didn’t feel the crippling despair that he had only months before. Instead he felt empty of everything but rage; not even the calm of the garden could curb that. He’d set it aside, yes, and sat at the table across from Homme, who had insisted seating himself facing Alex, and eaten his fill and drank, his dark glasses tucked away into his shirt pocket, and his eyes boring holes right through Homme. Meeting that blue gaze had been surprisingly easy - he couldn’t explain why, and he took satisfaction when Homme’s smug face seemed to fall when Alex didn’t cower before him.

_“Went and cut off those pretty curls, hey, Alexander?” Homme had laughed, reaching to tug a strand of hair that fell over Alex’s forehead._

He hadn’t been able to help jerking away from Homme’s touch, earning a thunderous, mocking laugh that still rang in his ears despite the waves below, and the birds above.

_Next to Alex, Miles cleared his throat, and brought the attention towards himself, and Homme seemed even more agitated, frowning as he poured himself more wine. “Kane. Heard about New York. That’s twice now - think someone is trying to tell you something?”_

_Alex dared to fix his attention further down the table and found that Jamie was watching the conversation closely, though he managed to look away as soon as his eyes met Alex’s. Alex sighed in frustration, and drew a hand through his hair, glancing back to Miles._

_“Haven’t the faintest idea,” Miles sighed._

_The answer seemed to make Homme relax in his seat, though he widened his eyes in surprise. “Really? There was no one left standing? No one to question?” He glanced about the table and gave a huff of laughter. “I would have thought you’d keep someone alive, to question at least?”_

_Miles sat back, draping an arm over the back of Alex’s chair, and gave a little shrug. “What can I say?” He lazily raised a hand and gestured to Helders, at his immediate right, and then one across and over to Jamie, and further still to Cas, Fab, and Valensi. “I’m in very good hands.”_

_Homme grinned around the mouthful he was chewing and clasped his hands together, planting his elbows on the table and leaning forward. “Better than mine?” He curled his eyebrow up and slid his glance to Alex._

_Alex stared right back, and imagined dragging the knife on on the cheeseboard right across Homme’s throat._

_“Well, I don’t know about that,” Miles shrugged. “You do have a certain quality.”_

_“Hmf,” Homme replied, sitting back and lifting his glass._

_Alex found himself doing the same._

The wind shifted, and then died for a moment, and stillness crept in around Alex as he stood in the garden. Then, softly there came the unmistakeable sound of someone playing a guitar, strumming a few perfunctory chords before a song formed. It was something Alex had heard before, perhaps in his youth, something his mother had once loved, and his chest tightened as he turned from where he stared at the ocean and gazed back at the villa. He moved forward, striding purposefully towards the sound, desperate to find the source. His dark gaze fell to open windows and searched alcoves, but even as the song became louder, he still could not find where it was coming from. He felt his lips curve upwards into a smile when there was a sudden blunder on the strings, and he quickly walked towards an open portice that faced east. It had to be coming from there; he’d searched everywhere else; the sound was too real to be recorded. Rounding the corner of the villa, he shielded his eyes from the cut of the early afternoon sun and stepped towards the open wall of the room. 

The music had stopped, and the room was empty.

Well, perhaps not _completely_ empty. As his eyes adjusted to the low light, Alex discovered that there were at least a dozen guitars in housed in the room, maybe more, acoustic and electric, six string to twelve, glossy coated in flashy colours, or polished, warm wood. He stepped further into the room.

“Hullo?” He softly called, craning his neck when he saw that his original estimation had in fact been wrong. One whole wall was dedicated to guitars, from what he guessed were rare antiquities and one-of a kind models, to more standard, basic types. They hung at three levels and he reached a hesitant hand out and gently drew his fingers down the curving body of one acoustic, black lacquered with a sunburst of red and gold around the soundhole.

“Alex!”

Snatching his hand away with a gasp, Alex spun and found Miles standing in the opening that led back outside. He sighed a little breath of relief, though his heart pounded against his ribs. “Miles, you startled me,” he admitted.

“What are you doing in here?”

“I were joost lookin’,” Alex shrugged, glancing back at the guitars. “Are these all his?”

Miles snorted and gave half a shrug. “I suppose so.”

“But why so many?”

Miles rolled his eyes and grinned. “I dunno, laa, because he can? In case you haven’t noticed, Barât’s a mite...eccentric.”

Alex hummed with a nod, and narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I gathered as much when over lunch he asked to be called ‘Carlos’, but then insisted on speaking French half the time.” He moved towards Miles and lifted an eyebrow. “Have you been shown our room?” When he reached Miles he sighed and let himself fall into the Scouser’s frame, looping his arms around his neck.

“I have,” Miles purred, sliding his hands around Alex’s waist, and then curving them lower until they were full of the gentle curves of Alex’s ass. He squeezed gently and searched Alex’s eyes. “What’s on your mind?”

“Let’s go lay down, baby,” Alex suggested, letting his fingers toy with the hairs at the back of Miles’ neck. “Hmm? I’m tired from the flight.” He winked.

“Look at you, all lovey dovey on me. If I’d known all it would take was a change of scenery to bring you out of that funk, I would have done this weeks ago.”

Alex shook his head and drew back a few inches, slowly slipping the button on Miles’ shirt open. “You were still laid up,” he reminded Miles. He slowly worked another button open, and then flicked his gaze up to meet those sharp, hazel eyes that watched him closely.

Miles’ eyes darkened, and he closed his hand over Alex’s where it still pulled buttons loose. “Don’t remind me,” he muttered.

“But you’re not laid up now,” Alex sang, opening another button.

“Hmmm, no, I’m not,” Miles agreed. “But I’m not gonna fuck you in Barât’s music room, laa.” He snagged Alex’s mouth with a rough kiss.

Alex moaned in his throat and then broke away with a smile. “Where _do_ you wanna fuck me, baby?” he asked softly.

“All over this island,” Miles uttered, diving in for another kiss.

Alex indulged him for a moment, and then pulled back again. “In the garden?”

“In the grotto,” Miles countered.

“What about that breakfast nook?” Alex giggled.

The taller man nodded and then added, “ _The Doherty_.”

Alex blinked, and his cheekbones turned pink. Drawing his bottom lip up between his teeth, he held it there a moment and stared up at Miles, dark brown eyes gleaming. Finally, he released his lip. “Yeah?” He breathed. “You wanna fuck me on the boat?”

Miles stared down at Alex and nodded. “Oh, absolutely, laa.” Diving forward again, he cupped Alex’s face in his hands and kissed him hard. 

Alex’s fingers dug into Miles’ shoulders, and he whimpered at the sting of Miles’ whiskers against his face. “Let’s go,” Alex rasped when Miles finally let him come up for air. “C’mon,” he said dazedly, “right now.”

Hissing between his teeth, Miles shook his head, and he tut-tutted Alex’s crestfallen face. “I will, laa, all in good time. But right now, Daddy’s gotta see a man about a crocodile.”

Alex’s brows drew together in confusion. “A croc - _what_?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Miles laughed, finding Alex’s hand and lifting it to his mouth. “I’ll be careful,” he murmured, staring into Alex’s dark eyes. “And then later we can revisit this boat idea.”

Alex snatched his hand back and gave Miles a confused look. “Later...Miles, I don’t…” He shook his head and looked away, working his molars against his cheek as his emotions swam. Miles’ moods swung like a pendulum these days, and it took everything in Alex to keep from lashing out. He remembered all too well what happened the last time he did. “Right,” he said shortly, his tone cool. When he looked back at Miles he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “So, what, I’ll just wait here then?”

“Yeah, you will,” Miles snapped back, snagging Alex’s hand once more and dragging him back to where he’d stood just moments before. “You’ll wait here, like a good boy, and do what I say, got it?”

Alex nodded stiffly. “Yes, Sir.”

Miles narrowed his eyes, and his mouth turned ugly. “Drop the attitude. No one is impressed, least of all me.”

Drawing a shaky breath, Alex nodded again. “Sorry.”

With a shake of his head, Miles drew Alex in for another short kiss, and then let him go. “Fuckin’ brat,” he growled, giving Alex a shove. “Go wait in our room, yeah? Go lay down, get some sleep. You look like hell. There’s a party tonight, and I want you looking your best.” Miles winked, and then turned on his heel and stepped back outside, moving towards the main part of the house.

Alone again, Alex sighed, and sagged onto the low couch of the music room. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, not now, not with Miles gone and Homme on the loose. The idea of Miles leaving him here made him agitated, and anxious, both things he’d tried to slough off with the curls and his cares. Leaning forward, he gently lifted an acoustic guitar from its stand next to the couch and sat it in his lap. He’d taken a handful of lessons from some girl down the hall from him his second year of college, but he doubted anything had stuck. Still, he pressed his fingers to the frets in a fair A chord, and drew the thumb of his other hand down the strings. He did this a few more times, moving his fingers stiffly from A to D, and then played around with what he could remember about E and E minor, before he heard gentle applause coming from the doorway that led into the house.

He quickly lifted his head and watched Barât move into the room.

“Bravo, Alexander,” Barât chided, giving a sudden gasp. “Ah, I’m so sorry, I meant ‘Alex’.” He winked, and then nodded to the instrument cradled in Alex’s lap. “You know the guitar?”

“Oh, no, no, I don’t, not really,” Alex said, grinning and setting the guitar back on the stand. He then stood and rubbed his palms over his linen slacks. “Sorry, I didn’t…”

Barât waved his apology away. “No, it’s fine,” the Frenchman shrugged. “So many guitars, so little time. Ah, this villa used to be full of music and laughter. It’s been years now.” He looked to Alex and smiled. “Would you like to learn?”

Alex shook his head once more. “No, thank you, I were joost…” he trailed off and glanced about the room. “Why so many?”

Barât glanced about the room at his guitars and gave a little laugh. “I like them,” he answered, as if it was as easy as that. “Do you like the villa? Is your room satisfactory?”

“I haven’t...seen it, actually,” Alex murmured.

“ _Non_? Ah, forgive me, Alex, I’m a terrible host. Your love left without showing you? Never mind, allow me-”

“It’s fine, really, I don’t...I’m not really tired, right now.” 

Barât cocked his head and contemplated Alex for a moment. “Let me show you the rest of the gardens, then. Fresh air will put color in those cheeks, yes? Allons-y.” He motioned for Alex to join him as he stepped into the open air and lit a cigarette.

+

“This whole parcel of land here that we’re standing on? One time it was a place of kings, of emperors. Tiberius himself built twelve villas here on my little island. The biggest of them spanned almost two acres - can you believe it? _Two acres_ , Alex, the house itself! Ah, to be Roman, and live in excess.” Barât sighed and threw his arms out, and twirled in his garden, his own terraced villa surrounding him.

Alex giggled awkwardly, still trying to decipher Barât’s humour. He was an odd fellow, something which Alex had known from their first meeting in France about six months after he’d moved in with Miles, but it seemed the older Barât got, the stranger he got. Alex paused for a moment and took in the slight man dressed in a flowing cotton shirt, buttons be damned; loose, linen pants, and sandals. He was definitely at home here, but if there was one thing he’d learned about Barât from his few interactions with the man, it was that the Black Cat was adaptable to any situation. He seemed just as at ease here on the breezy island of Capri as he did in his fancy penthouse in Paris.

Barât was talking again, spouting off historical facts about the villas that had once littered the island; and the slaves, the imports and the crops, the exports, and exotic beasts that were kept by emperors and politicians. “Falcons, and hunting dogs, large cats - lions, leopards, from the dark continent, crocodiles from the Nile-”

“Crocodiles,” Alex broke in. “Miles...mentioned a crocodile.”

Barât paused his impromptu lecture and lifted an eyebrow in question. “ _Oui?_ ”

“He said he were going to see a man about a crocodile. Do you know...what he meant?” 

Barât frowned and shrugged, and waved a hand absently. “Who knows, that Miles, always planning, eh? So cunning, that one.” He peered closely at Alex. “But something tells me his Alexander is even more so. Tell me, I need to know - it was _you_ that got Clarke to make a change to the guard?” 

Alex didn’t answer, but merely blushed and became very interested in his cigarette. 

“How? I mean…” Barât made a gesture. “How could one fledgling make a bid to be fed first?” 

Blinking owlishly, Alex shook his head. “I...I dunno, I just...I just called him, and we met and...that was that.” 

“My men,” Barât began, “were with me for three years, Alex. And then suddenly Clarke is calling me and asking me for my best - for _the_ best. That’s what you’ve got with Cook, and Cas, and the other two, yes? You know this?” 

“I do,” Alex answered evenly. 

Barât sighed and closed his eyes, tipping his face to the sun. “Ah, and all the better for Miles, I suppose. Hmm? Imagine if he hadn’t had them on that runway in New York.” 

Alex nodded dumbly, and worried his thumbnail. 

“Hey, Miles will be all right - he took your man Matthew with him. Cook as well. He’ll be back in one piece.” 

After a moment of silence, Alex ventured, “Surely you’re not...completely without coverage here?” 

“I don’t really need it so much as it’s nice to have someone to talk to when you’re doing the dirty work.” Barât gestured along the path and Alex followed, moving up to another level of the garden. 

“How much dirty work is involved with arms dealing?” 

Barât laughed, and motioned for Alex to keep following him. “Let’s continue the tour.” 

\+ 

The patio surrounding the pool and the grotto was partially enclosed by a trellis, and the vines creeping there and overhead provided lovely shade from the afternoon sun. Alex was happy to see that yet another table with refreshments had been set up. There were four place settings, however, and he looked around before he sat where Barât indicated. “Are we expecting company?” 

“In time, in time,” Barât replied carelessly, burning cigarette in the corner of his mouth while he poured limoncello over ice for himself and Alex. Then, he gestured to a small, silver dome with a handle, indicating that Alex should lift it. 

Alex complied, though hesitantly, and when he lifted the lid his eyes went wide at the heap of cocaine piled on a mirror, and a razor blade laying next to it. 

“I thought I might give you a taste,” Barât began, pulling the platter towards him and taking up the razor blade, cutting a small amount into neat, parallel lines. “A bit of an idea of what goes on here, yes? What my day looks like.” Grasping a small, hollow silver straw, he leaned down and snorted two lines, one up each nostril, and then sat back with a huff. “ _Ooh, la la_ ,” he purred, blinking into the sun. Then, he pushed the platter towards Alex. 

Alex licked his pinky finger and dabbed the top of the pile, and then sucked the cocaine from his fingertip. It was sweet, and pure - _very_ pure. With a grin, and another nod of encouragement from Barât, Alex cut himself a few lines, and did them just as quickly, finding himself reeling back in his seat with a rush to the head. 

“Fook me,” he muttered, giddy and dazed and fizzing madly. “That’s good shit.” 

“Only the best, _out_?” Barât winked and then looked past Alex’s shoulder. “Ah, here we are, our afternoon guest.” 

Alex turned, trying to focus his eyes on Cas, and the man he followed out onto the patio. He’d never met this second man before, never seen him in his life, and he couldn’t stop staring, his jaw aching and crackling with the effects of cocaine. He lifted his glass of limoncello and took a healthy sip, eyes widening as Cas none-too-gently shoved the man forward, and uttered for him to sit down. He couldn’t help the giggle that escaped his lips, despite the panic in the stranger’s eyes. 

“Why aren’t you with Miles?” Alex wondered out loud, watching as Cas took a seat and lit a cigarette, before sitting back and crossing an ankle over his knee. 

When Cas didn’t answer, Alex swung a questioning gaze to Barât, who merely made a placating gesture and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, _d’accord_? Miles is fine. Now then. Let’s get down to business.” 

What happened next, Alex couldn’t quite follow, for it was a flurry of Italian, and angered at that. Barât and the other man went back and forth, Barât’s blue eyes seemingly gentle at first, but then steadily growing bored as he listened to the second man continue to prattle. At some point Barât laughed, a deep, rich sound that echoed off of the limestone of the grotto, and the Italian looked perplexed, sputtering at the sudden outburst. Alex joined in, and Cas smiled, but his dark sunglasses hid anything his eyes may have given away. The only one not laughing was the stranger, and he desperately began pleading his case, from what Alex could determine from his body language, and the tremor in his voice. 

Somewhere in the deeper corners of Alex’s consciousness a warning bell went off, angry and red, telling him that something wasn’t quite right. He’d seen displays like this before; Miles had shot a man’s finger off only months ago, and the build up had been the same. But with the cocaine dancing in his system Alex found himself leaning forward, watching with fascination as Barât shook his head and stood, moving behind the stranger’s seat. Barât was laughing again, and this time Cas joined in. It was infectious, and Alex craved another bump, but settled for lifting his limoncello and draining it before laughing out loud, raucous, and borderline obscene. 

Then came the flurry of flashing steel, hands, shouting, and finally - oh god, when he looked back on it it all seemed so slow, every detail ingrained in his memory. Barât’s hand moved down for the blade next to the cocaine, flipped it between his thumb and forefinger and then without missing a beat, he drew the thin edge under the stranger’s jaw, from ear to ear. 

The stranger choked, and blinked rapidly and then the blood began to pour, spewing down the suddenly very wide gash in his throat, spraying out and spoiling the cocaine, the silverware, and the white linen table cloth. The hot, coppery scent worked its way right into Alex’s sensitive nose and he gagged, turning away quickly as the stranger sputtered and flailed in vain. There was a wet gagging noise, and a sucking, whistling sound from where Barât had cut into the windpipe. 

For some reason, Alex looked back, at awe as the red soaked into everything. He glanced down and noticed, detached, that it had spattered the front of his pale pink shirt. He hadn’t seen this much blood since - 

HIs hand twitched on the table, and he pulled it away, the sticky warmth puddling around his fingertips not registering. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then looked, noting the blood smeared there. His tongue felt heavy as it flicked his upper lip and he tasted it then - the life of a stranger, on his hands, at his feet, surrounding him. His stomach heaved again. 

Barât shot Alex a warning glare and then tossed the razor onto the table with a small clatter, and the stranger slumped down, exsanguinated. The body crumpled to the tabletop, dark, lifeless eyes staring at the sweating bottle of limoncello that sat sunnily in the Capri countryside. 

Flies buzzed. 

Barât sniffed and wiped his nose before shrugging. “Guess you should have paid me on Tuesday, Guiseppe,” he quipped. He took the linen napkin Cas held out for him and cleaned his fingers, shaking his head in remorse. “My daughter’s violin recital was on the Tuesday last. Guiseppe here was due to pay his balance that afternoon. When he didn’t show, I gave him the grace of my patience and was late to my little girl’s debut. Ah, she’s so sweet, Alex, you should hear her play some time.” As he spoke, he went about rifling through Guiseppe’s pockets, emptying his wallet and tugging a heavy, ruby-encrusted ring from his pinky finger. 

Then, Barât plopped down in his chair with a wistful sigh and pouted at the body between him and Alex. “Went and ruined the mood, didn’t you, Guiseppe? Hmm? Always bringing drama with you.” Pulling the platter with cocaine towards him once more, he lifted the razor blade, wiped it along the napkin, and then cut another line as best he could around the blood that had spilled there. He snorted this back and then looked to Alex. “More? Ah, of course, who am I kidding, nothing is going to take the edge off of _that_ little outburst.” He lined up a bump for Alex and then waited expectantly. 

The dark-eyed man stood on shaky legs, aware that both Barât and Cas were watching his every move. Reaching for the tube Barât had used, Alex bent down, holding Barât’s stark, blue gaze as he did the line, and then did another. Barât grinned broadly and clapped his hands as Alex staggered back and coughed, and shuffled along the limestone. 

“Ah, look at him!” Barât marvelled. 

Alex panted, his blood on fire as he fumbled and then laughed, causing Barât’s laughter to mix with his once more. When he lost his footing, Alex found himself with an arm around Cas’ shoulder, steadying himself as his heart raced and Guiseppe’s blood continued to congeal, dark and thick. The grove of vines and branches seemed to spin and pulse and breathe as Alex did. 

“Finally stretching your wings, yes?” Barât crowed, standing and pulling Alex into an embrace. “You’ll be flying in no time, Alex, just be sure to not look down!” 

\+ 

“See that one there? The fifteen footer? That’s Ramone. He’s the fastest of them, the most vicious.” 

Miles leaned over the railing that surrounded the square opening and peered inside. Gelid, musty air wafted up, tinged with the scent of decay and old blood. Miles made a face. “They’re crocodiles, mate,” he drawled, tearing his eyes from the one that had been pointed out by its owner. “They’re all vicious.” Still, he wasn’t quite convinced. All the bask of crocs had done since he, Helders, and Cook had been brought out here was laze around, baking in the overhead sun that poured in through the trapdoor, jaws open to thermoregulate. Their tails maybe flicked and curled, and perhaps their legs had scrabbled as they fought for a better position in the heat, but other than that, they didn’t seem much more than a lazy pile of expensive boots and belts. 

The croc owner, a slender, seedy looking fellow that went by ‘Marco’, flashed a gold-capped smile akin to the reptiles he kept company with, and nodded. “You got me there, Kane. But that’s what you’re looking for, eh? Vicious.” Raising a hand he gestured to one of his men standing guard nearby. “Barât tells me you’ve got to take care of a... _problem_. Something that you don’t want coming back to...what were Barât’s words? Ah, yes, to _bite you in the ass_. You want this problem to go away, permanently. There’s no better way.” The man Marco had signalled soon approached with a silver platter, and on it were steaks the size of Miles’ face, fanned out like the selection at a high-priced butcher shop. 

“The thing about a croc,” Marco began, curling his bare fingers around a hunk of raw meat, “is that they don’t eat right away. Too much struggle.” He hefted the piece of beef and shrugged. “Unfortunately this isn’t going to give you quite the effect you need, but it will give you an idea. This stuff has been ageing for over a month in cold storage; at market it would bring thirty dollars a pound. Nothing’s too good for my boys, though.” Marco glanced down into the pit and extended his arm before releasing the steak. 

Without warning, the fifteen-foot bull that Marco had pointed out moments ago flung itself up into the air as if shot from a cannon pointed at the sky. It snatched the meat that had fallen from Marco’s grip less than a foot, and while Marco grinned, Miles had scrambled back, taking Helders with him, the two of them landing in a sprawl on their asses on dusty limestone blocks. On the other side of the pit, Cook watched, but appeared unaffected. Below came the sounds of snarling and hissing, and finally water splashing. 

“Hurry,” Marco laughed. “You’ll miss it.” 

Miles scurried upwards with a hand from Helders, and he dusted the back of his linen pants as he cautiously approached the pit once more. Down below there was a surge of giant, leathery bodies in the shallow water, rolling over, yellow bellies showing, short reptilian arms grabbing and tearing at the prize held snugly in its jaws. 

Marco’s grisly commentary continued. “That’s the death roll. See how he turns over, and over, holding its prize in its jaws, turning it, holding it under the water, turning it again, playing with it? He’s tiring it out; he’ll do the same to a wildebeest, antelope, a lion...a man. The others don’t make much noise beyond mewling and howling, but a man? A man, Kane, caught in the jaws of a crocodile…” Marco paused and shuddered dramatically. “Well, you never really forget that sound. The bit of a croc’s jaws put out five-thousand pound-force - that’s the strongest of any animal alive today. Their stomachs are highly acidic, too. They’ll digest anything, and I mean _anything_ \- tissue, muscle, bone, teeth...all of it, and leave little trace of what they ate.” 

Miles gave a nervous laugh as he watched the bull croc settle with its meal. 

“He’ll push that down under a rock, or a branch, keep it there for later. Let the water and the parasites do his dirty work until the meat is almost falling apart. Then he’ll consume it,” Marco added with a whistle. “What a way to go.” 

“It’s perfect,” Miles murmured. 

Later that afternoon, on the short ride back from Marco’s compound to Barât’s villa, Miles addressed his plan once more, to be executed that evening, after dinner. Cook nodded with the steps in place, and agreed that after dinner was best, with the multitude of guests plied with food, liquor, and whatever narcotics were available, the disappearance of Homme would hardly be missed. His subsequent absence in the days to come could be attributed to a number of accidents, the most likely a fall from the cliffs, death by drowning. 

While he and Cook spoke, Kane noticed that Helders seemed distracted, his attention directed out the window, worry lines marring the sides of his mouth as he drummed his fingers along his thighs, a nervous habit the ex-boxer had always had. Upon further reflection, Kane had noticed Helders’ half-hearted involvement at Marco’s, too. The display of agility shown off by the large beast Ramone had done the job to shock Helders back into the moment, but he’d said little more than a perfunctory greeting. Helders wasn’t one be overly verbose, but he seemed more silent than usual. 

“Something on your mind, Helders?” Kane asked, a hint of warning in his voice. 

Straightening from where he slumped in his seat, Helders shook his head and glanced at Miles. “No, Sir.” 

Miles’ answering smile was flat. “You sure? You...seemed a bit distracted earlier. And now, even. You’ve a concern with the plan? Hmm? Something you’d like to share?” 

Again, Helders shook his head, kept his face neutral. “No, Sir. Sorry, Sir.” 

“No, really, Helders, if there’s something on your mind that’s keeping you from doing anything other than your fucking job, please, share. I’d like to know what you think is so pressing other than what you’re here to do.” 

Tightening his jaw, Helders swallowed and then said, “Alex.” 

Miles scowled from behind his sunglasses. “What about Alex?” 

Helders cleared his throat, and noted that at the mention of Alex, Cook had leaned forward in his seat. “The risk that’s involved. He won’t like it.” 

Miles sat back in his seat and contemplated Helders’ words for a moment. “What’s not to like?” he asked lightly, lifting his hands in dismissal. Dropping his hands, he pointed a finger at Helders. “Alex will deal with whatever I put in front of him. Leave him to me.” 

Helders gave another short nod. “Yes, Sir.” 

“Don’t be so fucking glum, mate,” Miles chuckled. “By tomorrow morning I’ll be in charge of the entire west coast of Clarke’s empire, and we’ve only one way to go: up.” 

\+ 

I were dreaming of blood. It was getting in the cracks of the tile at my feet, running along the ridges of my skin, staining around my fingernails, pooling red all over everything was so very white for some reason. 

And, I knew I was dreaming, too, because I managed to pull myself from it and force myself back to the surface, face pressed into a pillow that didn’t smell of home. The air was different, too. Ocean air, but without the snapping frigidity of the Pacific coast. It was thick, and warm, and salty, not unlike blood, when I thought about it. 

I groaned and cracked an eye open, and the late afternoon sun crawling in the wide, paneless windows, sliced into my skull. I hissed, and dropped my head once more. 

“Alex.” 

“Hmmf,” I replied to the soft rasp of Miles’ voice. 

“ _Alex_ ,” Miles barked this time. 

I stirred and flipped over, half-sitting up as the room spun, blinking to get my bearings. “Whu?” Finally, Miles came into view where he stood over the bed, feet spread and planted, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “Mi?” I asked gently, glancing from his hands to his face. 

He was, without question, less than impressed with my state of being. His jaw ticked as his eyes tracked down from my face, and down my body and the bed I lay upon. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Alex, I said lay down, not go on a bender - is that fucking _blood_?” 

I rubbed at my nose, which was raw and twitching, and I glanced down to see flecks of Guiseppe’s blood spattered on my shirt and my chest. “Yeah,” I said softly, rubbing my fingers over it. “Yeah, I guess so,” I repeated with a shrug. Shaking my hair from eyes I looked back up at him. “The fuck time is it?” 

“It’s time to get the fuck up and look presentable, that’s what the fuck time it is,” Miles growled, bending down and snatching my ankle in his grasp. He yanked me down the bedding and stared down at my disheveled state. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re stuffing junk up your nose so quickly you’re bursting capillaries.” I didn’t bother correcting his assumption that the blood on my shirt was _mine_. His hands curled into the front of my shirt and he brought his face level with mine, glaring at me with a burning stare. “An’ you’re still fuckin’ high.” 

I batted his hand away and slid off of the bed and around him, heading for the loo. “For fuck’s sake, Miles, you’re the one that told me to be friendly and respectful of Barât -” my words slipped as Miles’ hand landed on my shoulder and he shoved me roughly. My footing caught and I skidded forward, sprawling face first into the wall. 

Miles was on me seconds later, pinning me against the plaster with his wiry frame. “What did I say about that attitude, huh?” He hissed. Long fingers threaded into my hair and twisted until the side of my face was pressed to the wall, my neck at an awkward angle. 

I surged beneath Miles and snarled. “Get the fook offa me,” I growled. 

For a moment Miles drew back, and I thought perhaps my tone had been enough to give me a break. Instead he flipped me until my back was against the wall, his hands like iron as he held me there by my shoulders, his knee wedging itself between my thighs. 

“This how you were with Barât, then? Hmm? Disobedient and ill-mannered?” His hand clipped me over my mouth when I began to protest, and then his fingers squeezed my jaw until I could do nothing but hiss and spit like a soaked cat. “When I say I want you to behave I don’t mean snort all the blow and be a fuckin’ joke, laa!” Miles roared. Pushing his hand into my hair again, he snared a fistful, and held me still. “I come in here and you’re coked up, passed out, spewing blood and god only knows what else.” His eyes searched my face with a look of disgust. “You’re _mine_ , you represent _me_ , Alex, it’s not an opportunity for you to prove how much of a tough guy you _ain’t_.” 

I winced at the hold he had on my hair, and his words bit into my soul. I raged then, and my voice came screaming back. “What did you want me to do then, eh? Get high and fuck him, maybe? Treat him real nice, Miles’ little bitch, that’s what I am, isn’t it? Hmm? Your whore? Your plaything, your fucking Rolex that matches your good suits and your mood and pull me out of the cabinet when you see fit and strap me round your wrist and expect me to keep time with you?” Miles eyes widened at my outburst but I couldn’t stop. “How far did you want me to go, Miles? Would you even care-” 

Pain exploded in the side of my skull as Miles’ hand crashed into my mouth, the heat of the blow almost making my skin blister. I felt my lip split open. Blood poured into my mouth, and slid down my chin, and my ears rung so badly my teeth hurt. My vision swam and instinct kicked, so I did the most natural thing in the world: I hit him back. 

It was a good hit, too, when I think back on it. It made my hand sting. I think even Miles was impressed with my tenacity. I left a welt on his cheek, his head snapping to one side, and he when he looked back at me, the smile he gave me made my body turn to ice. I flattened myself against the wall and my breath turned shallow. 

_I’d been here before, in some former life; something flashed in my brain, some memory I thought I’d buried deep enough, but I hadn’t even begun to forget._

“You wanna play rough, baby? Hmm?” Miles was a shark circling the waters, mile-wide smile and black eyes. His hand came up again, one, two, stinging blows, a kiss on either cheek, and then he grabbed the sides of my head and forced my skull back into the plaster. 

_Definitely been here before._

“Mi, no,” I sputtered, shaking my ringing head. 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay baby, I get it now.” His hand tore my hair back from where it hung over my eyes and he leaned in. “Wanna be handled?” He struck again, harder this time, open palm against my bloody mouth. “Wanna say something else stupid with that pretty mouth?” His fingertips drew through my blood and he delivered another blow, his bloody fingerprints smearing across my cheek. 

“I care enough,” Miles said coldly, “to keep from completely fucking up this face.” His thumb and forefinger squeezed my jaw once more, making me whimper. “I don’t think you wanna know what I’m _really_ capable of, Alex.” In the next moment he shoved me aside and took a step back, watching me slump against the wall as he reached to adjust the cuffs of his shirt. “I care enough to make an impression tonight, to keep my position solid, and to make connections to secure the future - mine _and_ yours. I expect the same from you.” 

“I can - I will, Miles, just-” 

“ _Don’t_ fuck this up for me, Alex,” Miles hissed, wrapping his fingers into the front of my shirt and hauling me up once more. “No more of this, ‘It’s Alex,’ shit. Someone wants to call you fucking _Sally_ , you start answering to Sally. Someone wants their ass kissed, pucker up, love. You’re not here to deal. Your job is simple: clean up, show up, and shut up. Can you do that?” 

I looked away, out the window to the low evening sun casting shadows, pulling my jaw tight in an effort not to crumble. With his hands still wrapped in my shirt, Miles shook me again. 

“Look at me.” 

My jaw was cramping, I was clenching it so tightly. Inhaling shakily, I forced myself to meet Miles’ gaze. The icy sheen of danger was evident in those hazel depths and the breath I’d been holding pushed out of my lungs with a startled sound. In my stomach, a very cold, very hard lump of fear settled and pulled down, making me feel nauseous. 

Miles cracked a smile, but it was like a gash splitting open firm skin, and his teeth gleamed sharp, and white. He let a little laugh go as his eyebrows went up in askance. His touch turned soft as he loosened his grip on my shirt and pushed my hair back with one hand, and wrapped the fingers of his other hand around my throat. “Can you be what I need you to be, Alexander?” 

My cheeks burned as my eyes squeezed shut at the sound of my full name said so coldly, and a tear fell, fat and humiliating, rolling down my cheek. “Yes,” I gasped, opening my eyes. 

Miles’ cheeks moved as his smile widened. Both hands now on my cheeks, his thumb sliding over my tears and my blood as his lips scored dryly over mine. “Good boy,” he whispered, the words like stinging needles against my mouth. 

He left me to slide down the wall and hug my knees as my lip swelled, and continued to ooze blood. I heard him pause at the door and murmur something, and then he left, and the claws that seemed to hold the room by the throat loosened. Then, a pair of polished, oxblood shoes appeared between my feet where I stared at the tile, crisply pressed cream coloured slacks breaking perfectly at the hem. 

“C’mon,” I heard Jamie say. 

I sucked in a startled breath and stared up into blue grey eyes that seemed to melt. He held out a hand to me. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

\+ 

_“Why do you let him treat ya like this, Katie?” Jamie frowned at the cold distance in the girl’s blue eyes as he held a damp cloth to the cut above her eyebrow._

_She worried her lip before she stole a quick glance of Jamie. She shrugged then, legs kicking back and forth where she sat on the bathroom counter. “Sorta comes with the territory, don’t it?” Trying to make light of the situation, she levied a small laugh, but when her mouth dared to crack a smile she winced and quickly fell silent._

_Jamie sighed and moved the cloth to her mouth where the blood had started to slowly weep once more. “Yeah, but you can leave, can’t ya?”_

_Clicking her tongue, Katie raised her hands and cupped his face gently. Her normally soft, perfectly manicured hands were cold and dry, the nails cracked and ragged from her struggle. “Oh Jamie,” she sighed, closing her eyes. “You are very young, my love.”_

“Do you do this a lot?” 

The gentle timbre of Alex’s voice brought Jamie’s attention to the fore and he blinked, finding himself facing the dark-eyed man as he sat on the bathroom counter holding the edge of a cloth to his busted bottom lip. 

“Do what?” Jamie asked softly, rifling through a first aid kit for something to clean the cuts by Alex’s mouth with. From the corner of his eye, he watched Alex shrug. 

“Clean people up?” 

Jamie frowned as he searched, turning over packets of plaster, bandages, burn ointment, until he found a few envelopes that contained antiseptic wipes. He fished one out and tore it open. “Comes with the territory, don’t it?” He answered vaguely before finally looking up at Alex. 

When he’d first seen Alex up close, in person, he’d been struck with how ethereal the young man had been. Fresh faced, doe-eyed, long dark hair, gentle movements and words; Jamie could understand what Kane had seen in him, and why he’d chosen the gentle creature who seemed to have stepped out of a dream. 

Now, of course, that vision was tarnished, or rather like looking at it through a cracked lense. Alex was still stunning, no question there, but his face contained a hardness that came with living under Kane’s thumb. Sleeplessness had carved dark hollows under the eyes; the drugs had cut quick and made knife edges of Alex’s cheekbones, jawline, and chin. Kane’s handiwork was evident, too. While Jamie had more or less heard the happenings going on within the room - and god, he’d been helpless there as he had been with Katie, left standing outside the door to hear the crack of skin against skin, angry words belting a defenseless human, and the finality in Kane’s voice - the visual representation just made his blood boil even more. The corner of Alex’s mouth had taken the brunt of it, the bottom lip swollen and split, Kane’s rings leaving purplish bruises along the cheek and lower jaw. Alex eyes, however, hadn’t lost their softness and they blinked up at Jamie rather dreamily. 

It was on the tip of Jamie’s tongue to ask why he stayed, why he let Kane treat him like this - of course it was, it was a perfectly logical question, but he’d learned a little bit in his line of work over the years: those in this situation were either in denial, or strangely accepting of their lot in life. So, he said nothing, and tried to ignore the way Alex’s glassy brown eyes tracked his movements. 

He motioned for Alex to move the towel he was holding to his lip as he unwrapped the soaked little towelette, and then he approached Alex, who watched him warily. “Maybe you should do this,” Jamie said, holding the towelette out to Alex. 

Alex shook his head. “I trust ya,” he replied, giving Jamie a small smile. 

Jamie nodded and blew out a breath, reaching for Alex. “It’s gonna sting,” he offered lamely. 

Alex snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’ve been through worse.” 

“Hmm,” Jamie replied, gently grasping Alex’s chin with one hand, and dragging the wipe over the worse of Alex’s cuts with the other. 

For his part, Alex hissed and stiffened, but he didn’t say anything. 

“Sorry,” Jamie uttered, finishing quickly and tossing the wipe into the sink. “Let’s see,” he murmured, the hand on Alex’s chin gently pushing his head back, tilting the damaged parts of his face to the light. “It looks worse than it actually is,” Jamie announced. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches but…” he trailed off and stood straight, searching the bathroom. “Should probably bring down the swelling. Hold on.” He moved away from Alex and stepped back into the bedroom where he’d found the smaller man after Miles’ exit. 

Alex took a moment to release a breath, and he turned to catch his expression in one of the many mirrors lining the wall behind him. Infinite reflections showed his cut lip, still welling blood slowly, and the reddened, swollen flesh surround his mouth. There were a few welts across his cheekbone, too, scratches from the rings Miles wore, and Alex raised a hand and ran his fingertips over the small, thin scar on his other cheekbone, another reminder of when he’d once gotten too sure of himself. 

But he’d hit back. He’d hit back both times, too, and both times he’d lost, but this time he’d seen the surprise, the shock, and perhaps a small dose of something akin to fear in Miles’ face. Alex latched onto that, or at least onto that which he created with his own mind, and held it fiercely. He wasn’t that boy. Hadn’t been that boy in a while. That boy was dead- 

“Here,” Jamie was back, stepping into the bathroom and bringing with him a bucket of somewhat melted ice. He set the champagne bottle that had been chilling in it to one side, murmuring something about Miles having a strange way of celebrating. Pulling another small hand towel from the rack, Jamie scooped ice into it and then folded the corners over and held it up to Alex’s face. “Do you want me to...or can you…” 

“It’s fine, thank you,” Alex murmured, taking the makeshift ice pack from Jamie’s hand. His fingers brushed over Jamie’s in the exchange and he suddenly remembered what it was like to be touched by Jamie. He let his hand linger, and his eyes reached Jamie’s. 

Jamie paused, too, and opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t find any words that would alleviate the pressure, or make the situation less delicate. So he drew his hand back hastily and set about putting things in some sort of order within the first aid kit. 

Alex watched Jamie work, taking in his precise, methodical movements, born of someone who was obviously used to order in his life. At the same moment, however, Alex was surprised to hear the first few notes of a song being hummed. Leaning forward, Alex recognized the tune right away - it was the same from that afternoon, and his heart hammered in his chest as he stared at Jamie, completely dumbstruck. 

“That were you earlier,” Alex heard himself whisper. 

“Wot?” Jamie’s head came up as he closed the lid on the first aid kit. Alex was staring at him with a strange mix of calm fascination, his dark eyes wide and impossibly young. 

“In the garden,” Alex answered absently, words half hidden by the ice he held against his lip. 

With a dismissive shake of his head, Jamie cupped his hand over Alex’s which held the ice, and he pulled the pack away, inspecting the lip. “Pretty swollen,” he observed. He pushed the ice back into place and looked over Alex’s features. “Anything else hurt?” 

Biting the part of his lip that wasn’t throbbing, Alex shook his head and lowered his eyes to the blood spattered slacks he still wore. 

Jamie took a breath and released it in a sigh as he watched Alex. “You don’t have to...do that, you know. Don’t have to pretend with me. I...when we first met, I thought I had you figured out, but I was wrong.” 

Alex lifted his head. “Is that you apologizin’?” 

The fact that Alex had to ask created a dangerous fissure in Jamie's . Of course Alex wouldn’t know; he’d been conditioned to be the one making apologies, not receiving them. Jamie nodded stiffly. “Aye.” 

Alex gave a small nod. “Thank you.” 

“Let’s have another look,” Jamie said, moving beyond the moment before he slipped too deep. Once more his hand touched Alex’s, and those dark eyes met his, and the moment that Jamie had tried to distance himself from was back in full force, unwilling to be ignored. 

Alex lowered the towel and ice from his face and tipped his chin up towards Jamie. That was when Jamie’s fingers flitted over the scar on his cheekbone, and another above his eyebrow. The blond frowned. “You get in these situations a lot?” 

Alex smiled dumbly and pursed his lips. “Can’t help it, I suppose. Or, I couldn’t.” He frowned. “I dunno anymore. I’m...I don’t want to be that...I’m not…” 

“You’re not,” Jamie agreed. “You’re not like that.” 

“How do you know?” Alex asked eagerly. “How _can_ you know?” 

Jamie sighed. “Cuz I knew someone like you. Once. Very much like you. A victim of circumstance-” 

“No,” Alex cut in. His fingers closed over Jamie’s where they still traced over faded scars, and he squeezed them roughly. “I’m not a victim. I’m a...a product. A result. Forged by the circumstances.” Alex sighed, his shoulders slumping, and he dropped Jamie’s hand. “He’s not...Miles isn’t...like that. I mean he’s never been like this; he’s-” 

“I get it,” Jamie hastily said, his anger starting to rise as Alex scrambled to find excuses for Kane’s behaviour. 

Alex tried another route, self-deprecation coming to head. “I bring it on meself, you know. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a bit of a mouth on me.” He forced a weak smile. 

“And that makes it all right?” Jamie asked carefully. “That make this,” and he gestured to Alex’s face, and the first aid kit open on the counter, “okay with you?” 

The dark-eyed man looked away from Jamie, his face burning. “He’d never do this if he weren’t so on edge. Someone tried to kill him. Twice, Jamie,” Alex reiterated, looking back to Jamie. 

“That doesn’t change anything - this isn’t how you treat someone you love-” Jamie cut himself off and he shook his head ruefully. _Walk away, Jamie_. 

“Do you feel sorry for me?” Alex asked after a stretch of silence. 

“No,” Jamie answered truthfully. At some point he’d moved closer to Alex, between bony knees that widened to accommodate, and Jamie’s hand had found Alex’s once more, picking it up from where it rested on the counter. 

“Do you feel _anything_ for me?” Alex ventured cautiously. 

The words washed over Jamie like a tidal wave, and they barreled him over and threatened to drown him. _Don’t answer him_. Twisting his fingers out of Alex’s grasp didn’t do anything to keep him at a safe distance; the younger man was like the undertow, and no matter how hard Jamie fought him, he felt himself growing weaker with every moment he bobbed in an endless sea, treading water. He feathered a hand through Alex’s hair, brushing long strands from where they hung over those dark eyes, and then slid his palm down to cup Alex’s face. Jamie moved then, finding that he was closer than he thought, and he angled his head to taste Alex’s lips. 

Alex held still, his fingers clutching the sides of Jamie’s lavender shirt, and he tried to ignore the solid muscle he grazed, the warmth he sought. He sagged at the affectionate touch, however, and found comfort in something achingly familiar. 

In the next moment Alex drew back with a startled gasp. Jamie froze, glancing down, and saw the trepidation in those impossibly dark eyes staring up at him, and the quiver in that bottom lip. 

“I can’t,” Alex rasped. 

Jamie merely smiled sadly and dropped a quick kiss to the smooth expanse of Alex’s forehead, lingering there and inhaling the scent of his hair. If he thought this would be a paltry consolation he was wrong, and his heart pounded in his chest as his lips brushed over the soft, warm skin. 

But when Jamie drew back, Alex’s fingers were grasping at the air, and coolness swept over him in the absence of Jamie’s body. Blinking his eyes open, he found that Jamie had already moved, and was slipping out the bathroom door. 

“Shouldn’t leave a scar,” Jamie said flatly. He shook his hair from his eyes and glanced back out into the bedroom for a moment before looking back to Alex. “Finish getting ready. Kane wants you downstairs in ten.” 

\+ 

“The fuck happened to you?” Helders muttered as Alex quietly slipped in beside him in the lounge of Barât’s house. Alex looked less than put together, and Helders quickly craned his neck and scanned the gathered people for Miles. When he saw the lanky Scouser deep in conversation near the bar that had been set up, Helders ushered Alex back out of the alcove towards the kitchen, hands already straightening the soft gray suit jacket that hung crookedly on Alex’s shoulders. 

“Nowt,” Alex shrugged, leaning against the counter, staring Helders in the eye as he smoothed a hand back over his hair. 

Helder’s dark gaze immediately flew to the red and swollen edge of Alex’s mouth. “Nothin- Alex, what did Miles do?” 

“Tonight,” Alex muttered, already patting his suit down as if searching for something before he began rifling through the drawers. 

“Alex?” 

“I’m doin’ it tonight, Matthew, killin’ Homme. I can’t...Miles, he can’t...he’ll be different, it’ll all be different once the threat is gone.” 

“Whoa,” Helders muttered, moving Alex away from the drawer he was rifling through. “Let’s just...wait a moment, Alex, just wait. I know you wanna do this, but we haven’t even thought this through, come up with a plan-” 

Alex yanked a drawer open and dipped his hand inside, extracting a rather large chef’s knife. The blade flashed in the overhead light as he held it up for Helders to see. “Reckon this is plan enough.” 

Helders stared at Alex for a moment, and was torn. His instructions had been clear enough coming from Kane: keep Alex distracted. _“He doesn’t need to be getting upset, right? I don’t need him pissing and moaning over me puttin’ meself in danger,”_ Kane had growled earlier. 

“Alex, slow down. You can’t fucking stab Homme in Barât’s house with this many people present!” Helders hissed. “What the fuck you gonna do with the body?” 

“Drag it out to the garden, toss it over the cliff, bury it in Barât’s wine cellar, I don’t fucking _care_ Matthew, but the details aren’t going to deter me.” 

“Put the knife down,” Helders growled lowly. Squaring his shoulders, he widened his stance where he blocked Alex from moving beyond him. “And take a moment to think about this.” 

“You said you wouldn’t stop me-” 

“I said I wouldn’t say anything to Miles, but my job here, first and foremost, is to keep you _alive_. You are in a house _full_ of men all connected to Clarke, to Homme, to Barât, and you don’t know where anyone’s loyalties lay. What do you think is gonna happen when they see you, Miles’ lover, covered in blood after killing Homme - taking into consideration that you can even overpower him long enough to do so.” 

Alex looked away and chewed his bottom lip. “So help me come up with a plan,” Alex murmured, looking back to Helders. 

“I-” 

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” a voice broke into the kitchen, and Alex and Helders both looked to the doorway to see one of the kitchen staff standing and twisting her hands into her apron. Nervously she glanced between them at the knife Alex still held, and then took a breath. “But Senor Barât has asked for everyone to be seated in the dining room. Dinner will be served shortly.” 

The woman made a hasty exit, and Helders turned his attention back to Alex. “Seriously, Alex? A butcher’s knife? How the fook you gonna hide that?” Helders shook his head and moved out of the kitchen, leaving Alex behind. 

Contemplating Helders’ words, Alex looked to the blade, noting his reflection in it. It definitely conveyed a message, but Helders was right. Opening the drawer once more, he dropped the chef’s knife in and then scoured the bottom for something a little easier to conceal. 

\+ 

Dinner in its entirety, to the outside observer, was an odd affair. If any of the guests suspected there was some ill will in the atmosphere, they either refused to acknowledge it, or weren’t concerned. Talk came in cheap waves of spilled wine and heaving laughter; but the glances were cutting, across the table and to the side, each man eyeing up the other, whether for gain or otherwise. 

The level of ass-kissing was almost unbearable for Alex who stifled yawns and sighed, perpetually bored. At one point Miles’ hand came down on Alex’s thigh beneath the cover of the table and squeezed in warning. His piercing gaze was clear enough: _I’m only giving you one warning_. 

So, Alex ate, and he drank his fill, and he passed the time counting the number of times Homme’s wine glass was refilled down at the other end of the table. Though slightly intoxicated, Alex was also quite aware of the number of times Jamie’s eyes glanced in his direction. It wasn’t that Alex caught him looking; on the contrary: Alex pretended to be very interested in his meal, his glass, his fork, Homme’s consumption, than anything else. But he could feel it, drawing slowly over his skin like Jamie’s fingers had as they cleaned his blood off, like Jamie’s lips had softly pressed against his own. 

Miles ignored him for the most part, which Alex was fine with. The Scouser was too intent on loudly trying to assert his position as an up and coming. The men gathered - Homme, and Shuman, of course, slick Richie Hawley from the New England coast and two of his bodyguards, the loathsome Gallagher brothers from the UK and their entire entourage of brash Irish ballbusters, Zach Dawes from Western Europe and a handful of rather serious looking marksmen - seemed to know exactly what each other were about, but cared little for the runt of the litter, the spindly Scouser that had suddenly found himself in mixed company. They knew him well enough, but via his connections, and the rumours flying around about not only one, but two attempted hits on him in the last four months. 

The biggest murmur of conversation, however, seemed to be how Miles had his security team personally selected by John Cooper Clarke, a feat that many found themselves in awe of. No other member of Clarke’s syndicate had been afforded such a personal favour at such an early age. More than a few glances were cast down the table in Miles’ direction, and Alex found himself sinking further back into his chair, wishing desperately for someone like Zack to appear and just make things better. 

_But he’s not here_ , the assertive new voice in Alex’s head pointed out, _so what are you gonna do? Sit here and pout?_

He pushed his chair back, bringing round the attention of Cas and Jamie, the latter of whom set his fork down and looked ready to stand as well. 

“Where you goin’?” Miles uttered lowly. 

Alex sniffed and glanced about the table, more than a few more faces turned in his direction. “Gettin’ some air.” 

“Ah, Alex, you find shop talk just as boring as I do!” Barât smiled as he pulled the linen napkin from his lap and set it on his plate. Without looking away he raised his hand and made a quick gesture towards the table. All at once, the plates began to be cleared by the wait staff who had seemingly melted onto the scene out of nowhere. “I think we could all do with some fresh air; the night is young, yes? Let’s move this party outside so we can enjoy it.” 

\+ 

Alex found himself looking for Jamie when he stepped out onto the first terrace. The memory of their brief encounter in the bathroom earlier that evening seemed to play over and over again from every angle Alex could conjure up. Had the kiss meant to be reassuring? Soothing? Was it from pity? Alex had asked, and Jamie had reassured him that he did not feel sorry for him, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Jamie was projecting some part of his own misfortune on the situation. The comments dropped by Valensi and Barât over the last eighteen hours had given Alex more information about Jamie than the man himself had offered, and now it seemed Alex was even more confused. _Two different men_ , he decided as he lit a cigarette and craned his neck back to watch as Miles was surrounded by Hawley and Dawes and drawn into conversation. 

Jamie was absent, however, and Alex noted that Helders had disappeared, too. He frowned then, and slipped his hand into his pocket where he’d stashed the small kitchen knife he’d drawn on his way out of the kitchen. Now would be the time to do something; Barât’s love of flair and entertainment had afforded Alex the opportunity to do what needed to be done, but he wasn’t a complete idiot. He didn’t want to take a chance and not have back up were it necessary. With a sigh, he moved off to the garden he’d found earlier, the one overlooking the ocean. Under the half moon glow streaming in through the canopy above he took the last few drags of his cigarette before pitching it into the ocean below, and leaning his forehead against the still-warm limestone of a column. 

“ _Deja vu_.” 

Alex straightened at the terrifyingly familiar voice and spun on his heel, watching as Homme’s figure shifted in the moonlight. 

The hulking man narrowed his gaze then. “Well, maybe not so much. The last time I found you all alone, you were dripping wet and almost naked.” He grinned then, teeth gleaming, and he leaned against the column opposite Alex. “But you are very much alone out here.” 

_You’re not that boy_ , Alex told himself as he fought the urge to bolt. _Homme did his job well, but failed to realize what he’d planted in its place_. Still, his heart beat sluggishly as his blood turned cold. He shivered, despite the warm, night air, and his fingers curled around the column behind him as if to hold onto something, lest he collapse. He opened his mouth to say something, to tell Homme that Miles was merely a call for help away, but something stopped him. Slowly, he dragged a hand from the column and slid it into his pocket. 

“We’ve done this dance,” Alex muttered. 

“You’re right,” Homme shrugged. “Who wants a slice of cake that someone’s already taken a bite from?” Pushing away from his own column, Homme looked Alex up and down and cocked his head in contemplation. “But something tells me I’ll enjoy seconds.” 

“You’ll never have me again,” Alex growled, standing as tall as he could. He pulled his shoulders back and squared off in front of Homme, unblinking, his face set like stone. 

“That so?” Homme asked lightly, moving to circle Alex. “I think you’re all talk, Alex. I think the haircut, the attitude, the bravado - it’s all an act.” He paused and smirked as his eyes found the bruises near Alex’s mouth. “And I can see that Kane isn’t a fan.” He reached a hand out then and Alex pulled back, but not before Homme’s thumb snagged the corner of Alex’s mouth. Homme clicked his tongue in disappointment. “We’re gonna do this all over again?” He took another step closer. “It took a little convincing last time, Alexander - oh, I’m sorry, Alex. But I was kind of hoping we’d cut the chase and get down to business. You gave it up so sweetly once I got through to you. And I _did_ get through to you Alex, don’t tell me you don’t remember.” 

“I don’t,” Alex lied in a whisper. 

“You _do_ ,” Homme whispered back. “When the fight left you, when you discovered it was so much better if you didn’t fight it - fight me. You _do_ remember because I can see that hatred in your eyes when you look at me - that desire to kill, to destroy, to tear me apart. I know that look well: don’t you see it in my eyes, too?” 

Alex gave a shake of his head. “I’m nothing like you.” 

“You are more than you realize,” Homme insisted. “Deep down inside, you want nothing more than to have my blood on your hands - to make me suffer as much as I did you. Would you like that, Alex?” Homme moved again, this time eclipsing Alex’s personal space and placing a hand on the pillar behind Alex, cutting off the escape route towards the path. Homme stared down into Alex’s wide, dark eyes, and nodded. His other hand slipped down to where Alex was clutching the knife in his pocket and he brushed his fingertips over the fabric. “Gonna stick it in me, baby? Make me cry? I doubt I’m pretty as you are when the tears fall, but I bet you’ll love it either way, hmm?” 

Alex’s heart hammered in his chest, and when Homme’s fingers had glanced the outside of his pocket, he thought he’d missed his chance. Caged in by one of Homme’s hands, his only other option was to go right, towards the ledge and to his death, or forward, and through Homme. But then Homme’s hand was moving again, and Alex bit his tongue as Homme’s wide palm cupped his jaw and tilted his face up. He took a breath to steady himself, and then another, letting it out slowly. 

“C’mon and make it hurt,” Homme whispered, a nefarious grin splitting his face. 

Alex _did_ move then, drawing his blade quicker than he thought possible. His other hand swept Homme’s jacket aside, fingertips pressing along his ribcage, and what Homme thought to be progress in one direction turned out to be a journey he wasn’t prepared for. The larger man took a breath in anticipation, wetting his lips, but instead of the heated rush of a torrid, hate-filled kiss, cold steel slipped into his skin, below his ribcage. 

He gasped accordingly. 

Alex’s wrist flexed as he pushed the short knife deeper, surprised at how yielding flesh was, how warm all of that blood could be. 

Homme grunted, and his face was a mask of confusion for a moment as he adjusted to the pain, and realization took over. “Look who grew a pair,” Homme murmured before dropping his hand around Alex’s wrist. Gritting his teeth he slowly pulled the knife, still clasped in Alex’s hand, free from the wound. He glanced down and then back into Alex’s gaze. “And it’s not a letter opener, either.” When the blade had cleared his body he used the rush of endorphins to twist Alex’s one wrist, and bring the back of his other hand up to crash into Alex’s jaw. “Just aim a little higher next time, Alexander.” 

Alex staggered into the column behind him, and the knife clattered to the ground. He watched Homme advance and he dodged, diving down to the cut limestone of the garden path, his blood-stained fingers searching in the shadows for the knife. A boot landed in the middle of his back, followed by a knee, and then the crushing weight of Homme’s body as he was tackled to the ground. Alex grunted and fought, his chin butting against the stone, scraping it raw, before his fingertips grazed the handle of the knife. As he curled his fingers around it he was flipped to his back, and Homme settled on his hips and wrestled Alex’s hands back to the ground on either side of his head. 

“Still got that fight in you,” Homme panted, wincing as he twisted his torso, his hips pinning Alex to the ground.. Glancing down to where Alex had stabbed him, Homme noted the rather large blood stain on his shirt, and chuckled. “Damn, you got me, good, baby.” Leaning down, he hovered his face next to Alex’s ear. “Now it’s my turn.” 

Caught between Homme and hard tiles, Alex’s body shook violently with not-so-distant remembrance. His heels ground into the dirt and bucked in a desperate attempt to dislodge Homme, but the move merely made the larger man laugh and press harder into Alex’s groin. Indignant rage flared inside of Alex as he felt the evidence of Homme’s arousal - the fucking predator! Gasping against the pressure in his chest, a small sound of fear escaped him, causing Homme to sigh almost blissfully. 

_You’re not that boy._

_That boy is dead._

_Kill the beast at the door_. 

The human part of Alex’s brain clicked off. With a snarl he turned his head into Homme’s neck, jaws open wide, and bit down as hard as he could. He broke through flesh, Homme’s blood landing on his tongue, and still Alex tore, even as Homme shouted hoarsely, cursing him out as he pulled back with a roar. In his eagerness to escape the clutch of Alex’s jaws, he let Alex’s hands go free. With the knife still grasped in his hand, Alex swung forward, and around, slicing into the meat of Homme’s bicep. 

Homme growled, and his hand went to the fresh wound, staunching the blood for a moment before he countered, sending a fist into Alex’s gut. The smaller man jackknifed with a wheeze, and his face screwed up as he gagged on his breath, and the pain blooming in his midsection. 

“Gonna cut me to ribbons, Alex? That’s the plan?” Homme sneered and swung his other fist into the side of Alex’s face, right where Miles had concentrated the majority of his blows. 

The sting was different, lingering and nostalgic, even, and it seemed to clear Alex’s head enough for him to catch his breath and regroup. “I’ll cut you down an inch at a time if I have to,” Alex spat, driving the knife into Homme’s thigh. He grinned, flashing his blood-tinged teeth at Homme, and twisted the blade. 

“Ah! You little fucking _cunt_!” Homme clutched his thigh, already seeking to get the knife from Alex’s grasp. With another quick move, the blade sliced into Homme’s palm, and he reared back and curled his fingers into a fist once more. 

Another move from Alex saw the knife catching Homme in the flank, another bright bloom of red staining the shirt he wore, and Alex felt a flicker of triumph as Homme made another muffled sound of pain. It faded quickly with another strike from Homme’s fist, this one crashing into his scarred cheekbone. His vision blurred and his body flashed with numbness as the pain receptors suddenly started registering in his brain. The knife in his hand began to feel heavy; sudden lethargy strangled his muscles, and his spine flattened to the stone as the fight suddenly began to drain from him. Fear replaced the anger, white flashes of hot pain glimmering at the edges of his vision. 

_...not that boy…_

_...not again…_

And then, the crushing weight of Homme was gone, and Alex let out a grateful sob, coughing as his body curled into itself. Out of the corner of one swollen eye he saw Homme violently yanked back to his knees by Cas. Someone approached him, placed a hand on his back and asked if he was all right, but Alex flinched, his arm coming up to cover his head. He heard Homme laugh, and then curse loudly once more. Alex’s axis tilted and he was pulled to sitting, his head swimming violently. 

“Alex,” he heard a voice call. Fingers snapped in front of his nose. “Hey, Alex!” Still, he said nothing. “Cas,” the voice redirected. “He’s pretty out of it.” 

Alex managed to lift his eyelids and found Fab crouched before him, their faces mere inches apart. Fab smiled then. “Hey. Can you stand?” 

“What?” Alex mumbled, rolling his tongue around his mouth and tasting grit and blood. He blinked, and took in the haze filled scene before him. 

“Get him on his feet,” Cas barked as he secured Homme’s wrists with zip ties. 

Fab obeyed, helping Alex stand shakily. “Wait,” Alex croaked, trying to move forward. He wasn’t done. His work, it wasn’t done, Homme wasn’t dead, and he still needed to suffer. 

Cas threw a black sackcloth over Homme’s head and wrenched him to his feet. “Get him to the car. Kane’s getting impatient.” 

Fab pushed Alex forward. He fought the best he could, but in Fab’s grip, after the beating he’d take, Alex’s steps were clumsy, and he wanted nothing more than to lay down and ache for all eternity. “No,” he mumbled, trying to catch up to Cas’ long strides. 

“Easy, Turner,” Fab muttered. He turned his gaze to Alex’s hand, still hanging onto the knife. “Shit, you’re cold, man, and half crazy, taking Homme on with a paring knife.” 

Alex huffed, felt his adrenaline knocking about his frame once more as his hand tightened around the knife handle. “He has to-” 

“Don’t worry about,” Fab cut him off, helping him down the terrace steps and around the bend to the front courtyard. “It’ll be taken care of.” 

Alex watched as Cas proceeded to shove Homme into the back of Barât’s Bentley none-too-gently. A second car waited, and here Fab opened a door and gestured for Alex to get in. The first car slowly made its way down the drive, Alex’s mouth filling with the sour taste of defeat as he watched it go. 

\+ 

Homme’s kneecaps slammed into gravel, and he grunted at the impact, but said nothing. The ride from Barât’s home to wherever he was now, had been relatively silent, his opening line of, “Taking me on a moonlight drive?” had been met with a stiff chuckle, and the sound of a cigarette being lit, followed by silence. 

Presently, he couldn’t make out much beyond the lights blazing through the black sackcloth still covering his head; two cars were parked about ten feet away from him. Cool, damp air carrying the scent of saltwater and vegetation sent a chill up his spine; his hands were numb and aching where they were twisted behind his back, and the surface wounds he’d suffered from Alex were all stinging. He was still bleeding from the initial stab wound, and he wondered if perhaps the lad hadn’t nicked something vital. Casablancas’ ambush had been a bit of a surprise, he mused, as the man had always been more loyal to Barât than anyone else. He’d no doubt in his mind that Kane had set this up, and he had brilliantly taken the fall. 

Footsteps over the gravel neared him, and the sackcloth was torn from his head. The headlights blared into his dulled vision, and Homme blinked rapidly at the stabbing glare, ducking his head so that he might get a look at the man who stood before him. 

Kane stared down at Homme, his expression unflinching as he took another drag off of his cigarette. 

“I’d apologize for the rough treatment, Homme, but I think it’s a small price to pay for trying to have me killed. Twice.” 

Homme laughed, more to himself, and shook his head. “You got me, Kane.” Leaning back, he caught Miles’ gaze steadily. “But you came at me first.” 

“I wasn’t in Chicago to kill you,” Kane snapped. 

“No,” Homme drawled, “but trying to undermine me is practically the same thing in this world. I thought loyalty was your thing.” 

“And it still is,” Kane agreed, sweeping his arms out to gesture to the men gathered - his men, now, or so he deemed them. “More to the point: I’m loyal to Clarke.” 

The man on his knees gave a disgusted snort and then rocked back, laughing at the moon and stars above. “But is he loyal to you, Kane?” 

Kane fumed and reached into his jacket as he pitched his spent cigarette aside. Drawing his SIG, the blue carbon steel flashed as he brought the butt down across the bridge of Homme’s nose. “We’re not here to discuss Clarke,” Kane You hired a man to kill me, and then assumed head of security in my home to keep an eye on me. You gave an order for a second hit and failed at that, too. So now here we are: you, finally on your knees, about to beg me to reconsider.” 

Behind him came the sound of car doors opening, and then more footsteps over gravel. Kane didn’t turn, but Homme’s gaze slid past the Scouser, taking in the approach of Alex, flanked by Fab and Helders. 

“So who told you,” Homme rasped, sinking back down to his heels and looking to Kane once more. “Hmm? Was it that fine piece of ass you love to wave around? Hmm?” Homme grinned as Kane’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Was it Alex?” he asked darkly. “Did he tell you - tell you _everything_?” 

Kane glanced behind him and took in Alex for the first time since he’d disappeared after dinner. “Al?” He asked softly, eyes raking over the bruises marring one side of his face, the dirt ground into the fine linen of his jacket and slacks, and how his hair hung limply over his wide, blazing eyes. Then, Kane’s head snapped back to Homme, and he looked closer at the physical state of the man. Kane’s blood began to heat. _Had he dared to touch Alex?_

But more importantly: _Had Alex known all along that Homme was responsible for the attempts on his life?_

\+ 

Alex shivered where he stood between Fab and Helders, his stomach twisting as Miles glanced back at him. There was a look of doubt plastered on Miles’ face, complete with drawn brows and his mouth pressed into a hard line. He heard Miles mutter his name, the always so affectionate ‘Al’ now twisted and doubtful. Alex tried to move forward but Helders caught his arm. 

“Wait,” Helders muttered. 

“Like hell I will-” He shrugged out of Helders’ grip and staggered forward, coming to Miles’ side. 

“Miles,” Alex began. His eyes landed on Homme and his words dried up. 

“Did you tell him all your secrets, Alex?” Homme flashed a smug smile. “I warned you about his obsession with loyalty. Looks like he took it pretty hard, eh?” 

“You fucking savage, you know this was you!” Alex roared, lunging forward. 

“For fucks’ sake Alex,” Miles growled, catching Alex even as Homme laughed. 

“Miles, please, I didn’t-” Alex struggled in Miles’ hold, his arms flailing as he sought to strike Homme once more. 

“Alex!” Miles’ voice rang over the lagoon and somewhere in the water, something splashed, and stirred. Silence draped over the scene, heavy as a velvet curtain. Something flashed in Miles’ eyes as he stared at Alex, and then he was handing Alex over to Helders. “Get him out of here.” 

“Miles, no,” Alex protested. “I need to...he needs to die, by any means, and I-” 

“Helders!” Miles snapped. “Now!” 

“Let him stay!” Homme called. “What’s the harm? Let him stay, let him see what you do when someone dares defy Miles fucking Kane. Show him what you do to those less than loyal to you.” 

For a moment Miles seemed to consider this, and he glanced behind him once more to where Alex fought against Helder’s hold. There was something deliberately cold in Alex’s dark eyes, something Miles had never seen before, and it was focused on Homme. Miles looked back to Helders, and he noted the utter hatred he saw in the ex-boxer’s face. Then, he turned to Homme. 

“You’re right,” Miles nodded. “You’re absolutely right, Homme, he should stay, and watch, because I can see it in his eyes: he wants you dead as much as I do, and for the same reason. Because you threatened _me_. You want to talk about loyalty? Every man here wants to see you dead for what you did - or tried to do - to _me_. Threatening my life, invading my home, lying, and now this,” and here Miles turned back to Alex. “You’ve physically assaulted a man half your size, and for what? To get back at me? Alex has more balls than you’ll ever have, laying into you like he did. It’s too bad he didn’t finish the job, but then again, if Alex had poor Ramon would have gone hungry tonight.” He turned to where Cas and Valensi stood with Cook on his left. “Get him on his feet, boys. It’s feeding time.” 

\+ 

“You don’t have to watch,” Helders muttered in my ear. 

“Yes I do,” I replied smoothly. “He’s gonna die, and I have to see it.” My hands curled at my sides and I went over the battle I’d had with Homme only an hour before. Where had I gone wrong? What should I have done? Another cut? Stabbed him a little higher like he’d suggested? I’d been close - so close, and my chance had slipped through my fingers like his blood. Now I was standing on the edge of some man-made lagoon in the middle of an island, where it was muggy and decrepit, watching as Miles took revenge for something that seemed so frivolous to me. To die was one thing, but to be tortured and preyed upon was something else completely. Still, I moved closer to the lagoon’s edge, watching as hulking, dark shadows slipped beneath the surface on the opposite side of the water. 

Cas and Valensi had hauled Homme to his feet, and Cook stayed within arm’s reach, but when he saw me approach from the corner of his eye, he stepped back and held a low hand out in warning. “Don’t,” he muttered. “Don’t come any closer.” 

I glared at him and he afforded me a glance from over his shoulder. With a small shake of his head, he slipped his gun from his shoulder holster and flipped the safety off, before turning his attention back to Miles and Homme. I did the same, fascinated with how Homme suddenly appeared diminished, almost pathetic, disheveled, and bleeding from various wounds I’d inflicted upon him. The side of my face ached and my jaw felt stiff, but I still managed a satisfied smile when Homme’s cool, blue gaze met my stare. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it, boy?” Homme called over Miles’ head. “Watching something be destroyed? That’s what it was all about.” 

Miles’ fist came out of nowhere and belted Homme in the mouth, and then was countered by a left hook under the ribs, and a right cross, quick snaps, but all getting their point across. Miles was vicious with his hands, I knew from my own experience, fast as lightning, and just as ruthless. Homme staggered back and stumbled to one knee, whereupon Miles gestured to Cas and Valensi to stand him up again. 

“Cut him loose,” Miles growled, shrugging out of his suit jacket and handing it to Cas. 

Valensi moved and snapped the bindings from Homme’s wrists, and took a few steps back towards the water. The surface seemed to ripple again and my nose twitched, suddenly taking in the scent of animals, and of blood. I sucked in a startled breath and looked back to Jamie, who seemed more concentrated on the water, than on Homme, and he was balanced on his toes as if ready to spring into action. 

When Homme had shaken feeling back into his fingers, Miles came at him again, fists flying, ducking at Homme’s sluggish attempts to land anything beyond a glancing blow to Miles’ midsection. Hooking a knee with his foot, Miles took Homme down to the sandy shore and perched on his chest, raining blow after blow to Homme’s face and body. Homme’s ragged grunts echoed, but it was nothing compared to the heavy thud of Miles’ fists meeting flesh and bone. His rings glinted red in the moonlight reflected off the water; the headlights themselves showed the muscles of his back and shoulders flexing with every punch, his shirt becoming damp as he worked up a sweat. 

Blood erupted from Homme’s nose, flying as he fought to still curse out Miles, and laugh, and choke, no longer any fight left in him but those of his words. Sneering, Miles sat back on his haunches for a moment, ran his fingers over his head, and then reached for Homme. With one hand on his shirt collar he picked Homme’s head up from the shoreline; with the other he rocketed his fist into Homme’s face, smashing open his mouth, driving his nose at a vicious angle, and sending an arching spray of thick, almost black blood to dapple the inky water less than a foot away. 

Homme’s head thudded to the ground and he groaned, barely moving beneath Miles. Miles moved, already recoiling his fists, ready to rain another series of blows upon Homme when Jamie stepped forward and caught his arm. Miles jerked as if being pulled from a trance and he craned his neck to glare up at Jamie. Jamie shook his head and nodded to the water, a distinctive shape taking form not eight feet from the water’s edge, like a silent, stealthy torpedo cutting through the night. Lending a hand to steady him, Jamie helped Miles from his perch and guided him to step back. I watched Miles accept a handkerchief from Cas and wipe the blood from his knuckles, paying special attention to his rings. 

Homme’s laughter gurgled and sputtered, and he curled his weak fingers into the loam where he lay. “That’s it?” he rasped. “You’re not gonna finish it?” He laughed again, his body racking with it. “Give the knife back to Alex, Kane, and let him have his way - at least he wants my life with his hands, you give up-” 

Jaws. That’s all I saw - a snout, and a pair of jaws at least two feet in length lined with endless rows of pointed white teeth, wide open with a reptilian roar as a huge body surged from the water. The odor of decaying flesh caught between those teeth rose in a rush of hot air and I gagged. Then, those jaws snapped shut on Homme’s shoulder, audibly crushing bone, and sending the man into a fit of blood-curdling, screaming terror. Over and over Homme screamed, and he reached with useless hands, clawing at the snout, the eyes, anything he could, but the harder he fought, the harder the crocodile shook him back and forth in its hold. Then, it was dragging Homme backwards, and he screamed again, shrill and horrible as he raked the earth with his hands, dragged his heels, something, anything, to keep from being the beasts evening meal. 

I had jumped when the croc burst out of the water, and now I found myself behind held back by Jamie as I fought to get closer, to watch, to see, to hear how Homme was being slowly torn apart inch by bloody inch. I hoped he felt every slice of those teeth, every razor-sharp score of claws. I hoped he was petrified with fear, with terror, with the knowledge that this couldn't be undone: this was his end. 

The water churned and bubbled around the croc and as Homme was dragged further out, and I watched as more crocs slipped into the water, intent on getting a bite. Hommes’ screams rang raggedly in the night air, echoing off of the stone, dampened by the roar and grunt of crocodiles coming to feed. In the light cast by the cars, I watched the foaming water turn dark with blood, and soon there was tearing, and less screaming, more guttural now, and defeated. 

_Kill the beast at the door_. 

I stepped forward only to be caught around the middle once more by Jamie. My hands wrapped his forearm and I fought his hold. “Let me - I need to see!” I hissed desperately. 

“Cool it,” Jamie snapped lowly. “He’s dead - he’s gone, torn apart-” 

I twisted out of Jamie’s grasp and staggered to the water’s edge. “I need to be sure.” 

“Alex,” Miles called. “Alex, get _back_.” A hand wrapped my elbow and tugged, and I looked back to see Miles pulling me away from the carnage. His mouth lifted in half a smile as he cupped my face with his hands and held me steady, looking down into my eyes. “You did it for me?” he asked gently, turning my face towards the headlights still gleaming. “Fucked up your face for me, went after Homme?” 

My voice caught in my throat for a moment, snared by bitterness. “Yeah,” I finally sighed, forcing a weak smile. “Yeah, of course, babeh. Do anythin’ for you.” 

Miles narrowed his eyes. “How did you know?” 

“How did I…?” 

“About Homme?” 

It clicked. “Helders,” I rasped. “Helders told me that it were him, when we arrived,” I lied. “That he was the one that had tried to kill you and I couldn’t…” I broke off as hot, indignant tears of failure threatened to fall. “I couldn’t.” 

“Oh god, Alex, love, I didn’t know.” Miles’ arm curled behind my neck and he pulled my close, burying his nose in my hair. “I didn’t know that you’d had this on your mind…” 

Miles continued to babble and I clung to him, dazed, as my heartbeat thudded in my ears and a sudden wash of lightheadedness overcame me. I watched as Cas and Valensi moved away from the water’s edge, Fab and Jamie following suit. As Jamie passed, he looked at me with a troubled expression, and my fingers curled into Miles’ shirt. 

“Alex,” Miles broke through again, moving to gingerly cradle my face. He searched my eyes and frowned, looking over my bruises once more. “Are you all right?” 

I nodded, and my bottom lip trembled. God, he sounded so sincere, so caring, so much like the man I’d fallen for months ago. I swayed and collided with his chest. “Take me home, Miles. Get me outta here.” 

And for the first time in a very _long_ time, Miles listened to me. 

\+ 

Back in his room at Barât’s villa, Jamie leaned over the full bathroom sink and dug his hands in, sluicing water over his face and down his neck. He blinked his eyes clear before staring at his reflection in the mirror before him. As he took in his weary features, and the St Christopher’s medal glinting in the light where it hung around his neck, he went over the evening, fixating particularly on Alex’s reaction to Homme’s brutal end. 

The struggle the smaller man had given had been born of desperation, and something tinged with vengeance. Jamie knew that brand of venom very well. _“I need to see,”_ Alex had practically begged. _“I need to be sure.”_

Alex’s appearance had startled them all when he appeared in Fab’s custody on Barât’s drive where they were waiting to leave. As Miles was already in the first car waiting, he hadn’t been privy to the freshly bloodied dark-eyed lad. The damage Miles had done earlier seemed insignificant to the bruises already blooming purple on Alex’s cheekbone, and the blood that had dripped, and then dried and caked on his chin from where his lip had split open again. Homme looked just as bad, perhaps worse, sporting several deep cuts to his hands and his arm, and at least two gouges, one cut into his upper thigh, the other welling blood from a spot beneath his ribcage. The worst of the lot, however, was revealed at Marco’s compound when Cas had torn the hood off of Homme’s head. There was ragged tear at Homme’s neck, below his jaw, an angry, torn swath of flesh that still oozed. Jamie wondered just how much of the blood on Alex’s face was his, and how much was Homme’s. 

_Biting someone_ , Jamie deduced, _was a rather savage move in this instance_. 

At first, Jamie speculated on _how_ Alex might have inflicted such a wound, and then his thoughts turned to _why_. 

It couldn’t be a sign of loyalty to MIles; the Scouser had beaten Alex something fierce before dinner. And yet Alex seemed to sag in relief when Miles had taken him in his arms following Homme’s death. His eyes, however, those dark, dwelling pools of brown that Alex possessed had found Jamie even in that moment and Jamie would be lying if he said he hadn’t felt something then. Earlier, when he had cleaned up Alex, he’d stupidly ignored the voice in his braining listing all the reasons why his next move wasn’t the best course of action, but hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d always been a victim for those who weren’t capable of helping themselves - it had happened with Katie, and now, it seemed, it was happening with Alex. 

_It’s just pity_ , the voice in his head growled. _Fuck him, make him feel better, make yourself feel better if that’s what you think will happen, but this isn’t love. It’s your fucked up version of it._

Scowling at his reflection, he stared down into the sink once more and closed his eyes, taking a few calming breaths. The scene at Marco’s had been macabre, to say the very least. When he’d accompanied Miles earlier in the day, Jamie hadn’t been convinced that Miles would actually go through with something so brutal, and yet here they were, one less man on Clarke’s payroll, and the memory of cold fire in Miles’ eyes as he watched making Jamie’s guts clench. 

Despite his best interest, he worried for Alex. 

_Forget him_. 

With a sigh, Jamie continued cleaning up. He hadn’t been anywhere near Homme at the end, but he still felt cold and slimy, just the same, and he couldn’t get the smell of the lagoon out of his nostrils. Reaching for the bar of soap he scrubbed over his hands once more and then rinsed them before pulling the plug and watching the cloudy water swirl down the drain. 

“Too deep, Cook,” he muttered, looking back up into his reflection. “And too late to do anything about it.” 

\+ 

Forty-eight hours ago, I’d been packing a bag with my best island wear, pale linens and cottons, deck shoes, Fred Perry shorts, and a pair of swim trunks, wondering if I’d have the nerve to wear them, or the need to. With the idea of Homme weighing heavily in my mind, I’d taken them out of my suitcase, put them back in, and taken them out again a handful of times until Miles wandered into our bedroom and had distracted me enough so that I didn’t realize I’d left them in the bag until I opened it earlier this evening. 

Now it’s well past midnight, and Miles is passed out on the bed, sleeping off the adrenaline dump of killing Homme, and the quietly diffused sex we engaged in upon arriving back at Barât’s home. I’d been so worried about being caught in a lie that I’d said almost nothing on the drive home, and during a short meeting with Barât in the courtyard, the Frenchman asking how the evening had gone, eyeing me closely. 

Jamie had watched me, too. 

But Miles hadn’t noticed, or hadn’t cared, my money on the former, because when we were finally alone in our room, he’d shut the door behind him and locked it. It was a rather absurd move, given that the entire wall was more or less open to the night air, the grand sliding doors open, the ocean breeze causing the curtains to billow. The sound of the bolt setting into place sent a message though, one that I knew well enough: we weren’t going to be disturbed, no matter what was going on behind this door. 

He approached me slowly at first, and I fought to hold my ground, to keep from cowering, or scrambling back onto the bed. I’d faced him before while Homme had been alive; now that he was dead ( _dead, dead D-E-A-D, my brain repeated, trying to process the information_ ), I should have been elated. Some weight should have been lifted from my chest, some sense of closure should have been my reward, but I knew that deep down I’d been robbed of that, and I hated Miles for it. 

“Breathe, laa,” Miles chuckled, closing the distance between us. “You’re gonna pass out. Relax.” 

I nodded stiffly, but didn’t move, save to raise my eyes to his. 

Miles frowned then, a troubling turn of his mouth, and he looked at me closely. “What aren’t you telling me?” 

My mouth formed the words, “Nothing, babeh.” I shook my head placatingly. “I’m not keeping secrets.” 

Miles arched an eyebrow at me, and began slipping the shoulder holster from his frame, moving to set it on the nearby table. When he came back to stand before me, he raised his hand and gently brushed his fingertips over the battered side of my face. I winced at the sting of pain the soft caress brought, and Miles became perplexed at one moment, before his face darkened like a thunderhead. 

“If I could, I’d bring him back to life just to kill him all over again.” 

Nodding quickly, I caught Miles’ hand and turned it, pressing my broken lips to the palm while looking up at him. 

His fingers slid back through my hair and then held me at an arm’s length, his wide eyes bright with the oncoming fever of sudden lust, and anger. “Did he…” Miles broke off and looked away for a moment, gathering his words. His jaw ticked. “Did he _touch_ you?” He demanded in a low tone. 

knew exactly what he was asking. I waited half a second before shaking my head once more. “No, babeh.” 

"Alex," Miles warned. "Don't lie to me." 

"I wouldn't," I hastily replied. "I...Miles, how can you even being to believe Homme? How long has he been lying to you, trying to kill you? He'd say anything to twist it 'round, Miles." I sounded convincing enough. "I'm yours. _Only_ yours." 

Miles’ shoulders relaxed somewhat and he smiled, but it seemed half-hearted. “Of course.” He shook his head and moved into my space once more, reaching to lace his fingers with mine. “I’m sorry I would even think-” 

I tugged him in and quieted his mouth with a kiss. 

It felt...strange. His tongue was cool, not unwelcome, but unfamiliar. I broke away with a breath, our lips barely touching. “Please,” I whispered. “I need…” I trailed off because I didn’t know what I needed. 

But Miles seemed to think he did. 

He undressed me carefully, touching every part of me that was revealed as he unbuttoned my shirt, slipped the buckle on my belt open, unhooked my trousers...the palms of hands were hot, and heavy, but each gentle caress came with a snapshot of that evening, those graceful hands raised in attack, blows landing and the skin bloodied. He seemed determined to reinstate the fact that I was his; whether it was for his benefit, or my own, I wasn’t sure. At the time, I didn’t really care. It had been so long since Miles had touched me like this, I’d forgotten what it could be like. The venom that had been coursing in his system for the last months had suddenly dissipated, and I thought I caught a glimpse of the man I’d fallen for. 

I should have been elated - ecstatic with the attention he laid upon me. He was gentle, and reassuring, and he waited on me. The mood soon gave way to his passion and desperation, and he was begging that I come so he could come, too. I had to search it out, the pleasure, and the mood, blocking out the reality, and it showed itself briefly behind intense, blue eyes. The fleeting thought made me gasp, and Miles had groaned, and babbled his encouragement. Quickly, I sought it out again, those eyes, the smooth, rich scent of the man, his warmth, his voice saying my name, and the faintest touch of his lips on mine. 

It was like an ache in my soul when I did come, ragged breath and cold sweat, fingers grasping arms as I arched my neck and circled lean hips with my thighs. It was bittersweet, sharp and unforgiving, like an orgasm you chase down because you have to get off or go crazy trying. Miles, of course, finished beautifully seconds later, lightly laughing at the rush and the way I convulsed around him, and under him. When it dawned on me that in the heat of the moment I’d thought of Jamie, I recoiled from Miles. He was already falling into me with a groan, dropping cool kisses to my throat and collarbones as he sang praises about my body and my love for him. My fingers combed through the damp hair at the back of his neck and I murmured wordlessly to him, staring up at the ceiling as guilt gnawed at me. I’d lied to him about Homme; thinking of another man was surely as bad as cheating. 

When he’d settled beside me, a leg draped over mine, arm wound about my torso, I’d waited until the snoring began. Then, I’d decided upon my mission. I wasn’t sleeping tonight, at least, not right away. I need to know if _anything_ had changed for the better. I couldn’t live with the notion that Homme’s death had been not only torn from my grasp, but he’d died in vain, for no other reason than to satisfy Miles’ need to be in control of everything. 

I groaned, frustrated with the entirety of the situation, and decided that the only way I was going to get any sleep tonight was to face the only demon I could. 

I’d try my luck swimming. 

\+ 

It seemed as though both Jamie and Alex had the same idea - perhaps not the same execution, but the need to be outside, under the open sky, was a better option than being caged indoors with too many thoughts running rampant. 

For a moment, they stared at one another, each on opposite sides of the in ground pool on the lower garden. 

Jamie could sense the hesitation in Alex a mile away, and at first he guessed that it was the evening’s delicately terrifying end, that being crocodiles and open water, that made the younger man pause. 

But then Jamie remembered every other time he’d encountered Alex near a pool, namely the one back at Miles’ Venice Beach home, and he’d seen the pallor of those prominent features, drained of blood with a violent fear that had rationale, but one that Jamie couldn’t quite piece together. 

_It doesn’t matter, James. Let it go. He’s fucked up for whatever reason and your job isn’t to fix him. You know what needs to be done in the long run, and he’s only going to fuck up your plans._

Alex watched Jamie’s expression flitting from surprise, to curiosity, to a sudden, bleak stoniness. Glaring once more at the pool, and his inability to make that jump, he huffed and raked a hand over his hair, and sauntered around to Jamie’s side of the pool. 

“Can’t sleep?” Alex called hesitantly, stopping about eight feet from Jamie. No sense in getting closer and causing a stir of emotion. 

“Not here,” Jamie muttered. “You?” 

Alex shrugged and glanced up at Jaime from under his lashes. “Thank you. For earlier, I mean. And tonight, too. I just…” 

“Don’t,” Jamie sighed softly, shaking his head. “It’s my job.” 

Alex wondered how much of the job entailed kissing his employer’s lover, but he kept the thought to himself. “D’you like it here?” 

“I’m sorry?” Jamie asked, blinking. 

“In Capri. You’ve been here before, or so I’ve deduced, but something tells me it was under very strained circumstances.” 

Jamie swallowed and looked back at the crystalline turquoise water of the pool that was lit from below. “It’s just a job. That’s why I’m here.” 

“Yeah, but you don’t seem...comfortable. You seemed more at home in Venice-” 

“What’s with you and pools?” Jamie cut him off. 

Alex drew back with a quick breath and scowled at Jaime. “What?” 

“Helders told me that you used the pool at your home in California almost daily. Then you stopped. Why?” 

“I...had other...Miles was on bedrest and I…” Alex trailed off as Jamie shot him a withering glance. “I just stopped, is all,” Alex growled. “So, who is she?” He deftly changed subjects. “The one that Barât and Valensi and Fab keep bringing up? Hmm? Who’s the unlucky girl, Cookie?” 

Jamie fired right back. “Why were you so desperate to watch Homme die? Sure, he was a bastard, I won’t argue that, but I’ve never seen anyone so eager to see another man lose his life.” 

“He tried to kill Miles,” Alex lied. 

“Don’t defend that fucking asshole-” 

“What am I supposed to do, Jamie?” Alex hissed, lunging forward so that the gap between them became smaller. “I’m all alone in this world; without Miles I’m…” 

“You’re what?” Jamie gruffly asked, stepping closer, close enough he could see the flecks of gold in Alex’s eyes as they stared up at him. 

“I’m nuffin’,” Alex sniffed. 

“You don’t fuckin’ believe tha-” 

“Oh, why, because you showed me some compassion in a bathroom with some bandaids and a lacklustre kiss?”

Jamie flinched, his cheeks burning at the backhanded insult, but he pressed on. “Look, you may not believe me, Alex, but I saw something that day you first stood up to Miles, and I saw it that day you held a gun. I saw it then, and I saw it earlier today at Barât’s little garden party, and I saw it later at dinner. I saw it at that swamp, Alex. You are nothing like whoever it was that Miles fell in love with.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alex murmured. His denial, however, was half-hearted, as if he knew that Jamie was at least a little bit right. It scared him, and he shook his head. “No, you don’t get it. The threat is gone, Homme is dead. The only reason why Miles was acting the way he was is because someone tried to kill him, and now that someone is dead.” When we get back to California, it’s...it’s gonna be like it were.” 

Jamie growled and raked his hands over his hair, frustrated with Alex’s stubborn naievty. He couldn’t possibly believe half of what he was saying; he was grasping at straws, and desperately at that. Jamie wanted nothing more than to tell him how this would all end. 

“Killing someone changes a man, Alex. This is no fairytale. This is no love story, do you get that? There is no happily ever after here. Not for me, not for Miles, and certainly not for you.” 

“M’not...you’ll see. You’ll see, these last few months? A bad dream. Just one long nightmare, and now it’s over.” 

“You’re scared, I get that - anyone in your position would be. But fear is a powerful weapon, Alex. It means you’re still alive and that you still have a chance to-” 

“To what?” Alex laughed incredulously. “To get out? What about tonight are you not realizing, Jameh? Miles won’t stand for disloyalty, and he won’t stand for liars, or deserters. There’s no leaving him.” 

The finality of Alex’s verdict hung between them, and Jamie’s hands curled into fists at his sides as he stared Alex down, willing the lad to break, to come to his senses. There had to be a way. 

_“You are very young, my love.”_

“Good night, Cook,” Alex sniffed, backing away and sending one more wayward glance at the pool before he slipped into the shadows. 

The ghosts of Barât’s villa, now one more in number, lingered and haunted Jamie long into the night. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate, and am warmed, and flattered, and grateful, and in awe of each and every one of you that takes the time to leave your comments. I read every single one, and it's your comments that make this all the more worthwhile. This story is for me, but it's also for all of you. Thank you so much for every hit, every kudos, and every comment. <3

Trust Valensi to have filmed Homme’s end on his fucking smart phone.

Then again, it had come in handy when we’d all returned to Barât’s villa less one west coast boss. I’d put it up on the projection screen in the media room like I was addressing a boardroom, and when it was over, and the Gallaghers, Hawley, Dawes, and their respective troops were silently gaping at me as the last sounds of Homme being dragged under, gurgling and screaming around bubbles of blood echoed in the room, I left them there without further explanation.

I didn’t need one; my message was clear: don’t fuck with me, or mine.

That’s the nature of this beast: someone dies, it’s business as usual, with a little bit of rearranging. I wasn’t concerned - I was in Capri, the next overseeing boss of LA and barely beyond thirty years old. I was on top of the world, or at least a large portion of it, in terms of Clarke’s empire. Nothing could stop me, nothing could harm me, either - or would dare try. Shuman was shuffled off with withering protests, and my guess is that Ramone had a bedtime snack.

To celebrate - because really, Barât would use any excuse to celebrate - we congregated on _The Doherty_ , and began a ten-day excursion that would take us out beyond the faraglioni, to the coast of Sicily, where we’d make port for the next week. The yacht became a floating hedonistic paradise, with both men and women from Capri and the mainland providing entertainment, and Barât providing the party favours. 

“Don’t fret, Miles,” Barât had offered with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We’re all friends here.”

A sudden roar of laughter brought my attention from where it grazed the surface of the on-board pool, around which we were all gathered in various states of undress. Champagne had been flowing since breakfast; it wasn’t even noon and the cocaine had been carted out. While those who were Barât’s local guests had partook eagerly, and were now screeching with laughter, and invested in animated conversation, I listened idly as Barât spoke in rapid French next to me, his hands flying as he gesticulated his point, even though he was on the phone. On the other side of me Alex dozed, lounging with a little less worry on his face as of late. 

It was a relief in many ways. For the last few months, Alex’s behavior had been erratic as a result of my being shot and him not being able to deal. I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to put up with his attitude. Adjusting it by hand didn’t seem to be working; or, when it did, it didn’t stick, and we were right back to square one. I didn’t like hurting Alex, and since the night Homme died it finally seemed like he’d come round from the turbulence one would associate with an adolescent. Instead of brattiness, however, he was more prone to broodiness, something that still irked me. This was my time, dammit, _my_ time to finally come into my own. I’d waited so long for it, done dirty deals, threatened, stolen, cheated, and last killed for this. I wasn’t going to let Alex ruin my moment.

In the next moment I was out of my chair and strolling to the shallow end of the pool. I knew that sitting by Alex as he drifted in and out of sleep like it was any other day was going to make me lose my patience. The amount he seemed to sleep during the day was troublesome; at night he was restless, and no amount of sex could seem to turn off his brain. He was eager, but distant, something that I couldn’t quite figure out myself. That incensed me even more.

I settled into the cool water of the pool, the level at my chest as I sat on the steps that led in. Closing my eyes behind the lenses of my sunglasses I tilted my head back and let the sun seep into my skin. Christ it was fucking hot out here. 

No sooner had the notion entered my mind did I hear Barât’s voice from somewhere above me. Cracking my eye open I saw him standing there, grinning like a fool and holding two glasses of champagne, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter.

“Shall I join you?” He asked before he waded down the steps. “Seems like we’ll be working more closely these days, now that Homme has been disposed of.” He made a face. “Never liked him anyway. I don’t trust redheads.” He laughed, the sound jagged and reckless, and he handed me a glass of champagne before he waded out a little further, to the opposite ledge, and beckoned me to join him. 

The water here was to our chests, and we set our glasses down on the deck and folded our arms under our chins and watched the sea beyond the glass enclosure of the pool deck. Lighting two cigarettes he handed me one, and we smoked for a few moments before he realized he hadn’t brought an ashtray. He called out to one of the girls lounging nearby, a knockout brunette with long, tanned legs, clad in a bronze bikini. Plucking a glass ashtray from a nearby table she approached where we had set ourselves up. But instead of dropping the ashtray off and leaving, she settled onto her back with a smile in Barât’s direction, and then balanced the ashtray on the flat plane of her belly. 

“Ah, Camilla, you’re a dear, aren’t you?” Barât cooed, leaning up over the brunette’s face to bestow a kiss to her cheek.

She giggled and smiled, but didn’t move a muscle as Barât used her like one would a bartop - good for ashing his cigarette, and perhaps drawing his fingers around the wood grain, but otherwise ignored. He turned to me instead, jamming his cigarette into his mouth.

“Now, Miles, _mon frere_ \- I don’t use that term lightly, you know? I think what you’ve done is quite remarkable. I think it shows your tenacity. After all, it was a race, _non_? A race between you and Homme: who would kill whom first. And to think, you only needed one chance.”

I smiled at the roundabout compliment. “Well, I get shit done the first time.”

Barât hummed, and continued. “But now you’re in, are you not? Clarke is certain to welcome you into the fold, no questions asked and - Miles?”

My jaw had tightened at the mention of Clarke. “He doesn’t know,” I offered brusquely.

“He doesn’t know,” Barât repeated flatly. He waited a beat and sucked a few puffs on his cigarette, contemplating this new information. “You came here to my home with plans on killing Homme and you didn’t bother to discuss it with Clarke?”

“I didn’t decide to kill Homme until we were halfway between New York and Naples,” I pointed out. I shook my head and tapped the end of my cigarette into the ashtray on Camilla’s torso. “ _You’re_ the one that pointed me in the direction of crocodiles.”

Smoke plumed from Barât’s nostrils and he pointed at me. “Don’t you try to pin any of this on me, Kane. God in heaven, you’ve stirred up a shit storm - do you know how many deals Homme had in progress?”

I shook my head.

“Do you know how many _millions_ this may cost Clarke?”

I shrugged. “I can double it.”

Barâta whistled long and low, and held his hands up in defeat. “All right, all right. You have it all figured out, oui?”

That was the only vote of confidence I needed. Surely Clarke would realize soon enough that while Homme had had the muscle, I had the magnetism. “Don’t worry about it,” I grinned. “I’ll tell Clarke you were none the wiser, all right? I’ve got it handled.” I shook my head and stabbed my cigarette out in the ashtray, and then picked up my champagne and drained it. “I thought this was a party,” I mused.

Barât cocked his eyebrow at me and finished his own drink, and then disposed of the rest of his cigarette. “ _Oui_?”

“We’re the only ones in the pool,” I pointed out.

“Ah!” Barât exclaimed with realization. Putting his finger to his lips for a moment, he then moved and lifted the ashtray from Camilla’s body. She smiled, and stifled a giggle, but still held perfectly still. Pulling himself half from the water he leaned over her and pressed his mouth to hers as he laughed and she squealed in surprise. Given the advantage, Barât seized the moment. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he lifted her off of the deck and dropped her into the water between us.

She surfaced a moment later, hands pushing the heavy, wet fall of her hair from her eyes which now glinted with anger. “Carlos!” She sputtered, eyebrows knitting together.

Barât chuckled at her indignance, and in the next moment she was on him, a screeching laugh torn from her throat as she launched herself into his arms and declared war. Barât howled in delight and threw an arm out as Camilla wrestled him down beneath the surface. “Save yourselves!” He cried out theatrically. He disappeared in a wave of water, limbs splashing.

More than a few of the guests gathered nearby took notice, and when Barât burst through the surface he had his arms full of Camilla, bridal style. She giggled and fought with him, but with little conviction. Then, Barât announced lustily, “The pool is _open_!”

At once, the guests shouted their excitement and began stripping layers off. Some wore bathing suits, some wore their underwear, and more than a few jumped in completely naked. I scanned the deck in search of Alex and found him sitting upright, sunglasses perched down his nose as he took in the activity. I grinned, and waded around the fevered guests towards the deep end of the pool where Alex sat on deck next to Helders.

“Al!” I called as I neared him.

His mouth curled lazily and he sat up and forward, tilting his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose.

“Hey, babeh,” he greeted. “Enjoyin’ yourself?”

I narrowed my eyes at his lazy greeting and then tilted my head, glancing at his almost empty cup. “Margarita?” I asked pointedly.

Alex nodded, his smile turning smug.

“How many have you had?”

He scowled, and waved aside my question. “I’m fine. S’a party, innit?” he huffed.

I nodded and glanced around before looking to Alex once more. “You comin’ in?”

His smile faltered and he sat back then, the bravado he’d been sporting moments before suddenly gone. Shaking his head, his hands gripped one another while he avoided my eyes. “Nah,” he shrugged. “Not right...I mean, nah, m’fine here for now.”

His sudden cageyness set my teeth on edge. Why he had to fight me every inch along the way lately, I didn’t know. “C’mon, laa,” I pushed. “You love swimming. Could swim laps around me, around anyone here. Come in and be with me.”

“I don’t-” he shook his head once more. “It’s not that, I joost…” I watched his bottom lip tremble as the colour slowly drained from his face. “I can’t.”

“What?” I snapped. God, what was he complaining about this time? Pulling myself from the pool by way of the ledge I soon stood before him, dripping wet, pulling my sunglasses from my face. “What do you mean you _can’t_? Can’t, or _won’t_?”

“Miles,” Alex hastily warned, glancing around nervously. “Keep it down.”

I looked, too, watching as Helders suddenly moved his gaze across the deck. I zeroed in on Alex once more. “Don’t you fookin’ tell me to keep it down. C’mon,” I snapped. “Get up. In the pool. Quit stalling.”

I couldn’t even tell if he was looking at me at that moment. Quelling the urge to snatch his glasses from his face, I instead reached down and wrapped my fingers around his wrist, pulling him to the edge of his lounge chair. His skin was cool, but I felt him tense in my grip, and his eyes met mine over the frames of his sunglasses.

“I said I don’t want to,” Alex muttered tightly.

“An’ I don’t fuckin’ care. You’re causing a scene,” I hissed.

“ _You’re_ the one causing a fookin’ scene,” Alex snapped back, yanking from my grip.

 _Shit_. I took another second to see if anyone was witnessing this exchange. If Alex wanted to act like a distempered little bitch, I’d gladly remedy it. “All right,” I growled, grinning darkly. “You wanna play games? I can play games.” I snatched him up, much like Barât had Camilla, and took Alex a moment to register what was going on. By the time I had him in my arms, he was stiff and his hands like vices on my arms.

“Miles,” he hastily begged - fucking _begged_. Christ, if this was about getting that stupid quiff wet, I wasn’t having it. “Miles, don’t-”

“Marco fucking Polo,” I laughed, before promptly dumping him from my arms and into the pool.

+

_He sank like a stone to the bottom, limbs clamouring around him, the rush of water and bubbles filling his senses. For a moment, he sat, contemplating the warmth of the liquid around him. Air streamed from his nostrils and his mouth as he blinked in the blurry lines and turquoise haze._

_It was relatively peaceful down here._

_But then he looked up, and saw the figure standing on the edge of the pool, backlit, no longer by sunlight, but by bright, white-hot LED on a dark summer night._

_He gasped. Being underwater, his lungs rapidly took in water and he spasmed and choked, and began spinning, his arms and legs churning water as he fought to make a sound, to push to the surface, but then something was on his leg, hauling him back down even as his fingertips broke the surface._

_He kicked, and kicked hard, a grunted, choking sound muffled under the water, and the thing on his ankle tugged again and then let go. He scurried to the top but found he was crawling closer to the bottom, spun round and uncertain of which way was up. His lungs were burning, his limbs on fire, his eyes and his head pounding, heart ready to burst._

_This was it._

_This was how he was going to die._

+

Alex didn’t surface right away after my initial tossing of him into the pool, and for a moment I thought he was sulking there at the bottom the pool.

Then, a few things happened all at once.

First, I watched Barât dive from his end of the pool, and swim towards our end. Beside me, Helders had clambered up from his chair and shoved me aside with his shoulder, and stood on the ledge, peering down into the water, his eyes wide, his knees bent as if he were ready to dive in.

Looking around I saw Cook move from where he’d parked himself next to the bar, and creep towards the pool, his eyes fixed on the surface. 

Slowly, I dragged my eyes back to where Alex’s figure still sat, unmoving.

 _Christ, had he hit his head? Had he - oh god, had he broken his neck?_ My blood turned to ice and I reached out. “Alex?” I called out stupidly, as if he could hear me. His body suddenly jerked. Had he heard me? His limbs flailed sluggishly and I stood unmoving and watched as  
Barât as approached like a shark under the water, moving closer until his hand snatched out and tried to grab Alex. One of Alex’s legs shot out and his heel clipped Barât somewhere in the face - I knew because Barât jerked back and sputtered to the surface only seconds later, holding his lip and blinking chlorine from his eyes.

“Fucking _hell_ , what-” he looked around wildly and gestured at the water. “ _Do_ something!”

I tried to move, I know I did, but Helders was already in the water, charging through like it was naught but air, and he dove down to Alex in the next breath. By now the other guests had taken notice of whatever was going on, and the sun moved behind the clouds, casting the party in a shadow. My heart had dropped like a stone and I stood dumbly watching as Helders broke through the surface what felt like hours later, having caught Alex under the arms to drag him up out of the water.

And Alex was still moving, oh fuck he was still moving and living and breathing and crying, coughing, fighting Helders with every bit of breath he could pull in, kicking at the water. Someone else pushed me aside and I let them. Cook had moved down to the ledge, still in his suit pants, and grabbed for Alex, pulling him up as Helders lifted him.

“Miles!” Cook barked. “I need your help - _now_!” 

I sprang to action, my adrenaline washing out any tone in Cook’s voice I normally would have frowned upon. With my hands around Alex’s ribs I helped land him on the deck and now hovered over him, my eyes frantically flitting over his pale, bluish features, and his shivering body. “What-” I sputtered, glancing to Cook. “What happened?”

“He’s in shock,” Cook growled, looking around in search of something. “Help me turn him on his side, he might have water in his lungs. Alex,” he called, fingers sliding over Alex’s jaw. “Hey, can you hear me?”

My hands still slid over his ribs, the skin cold and rubbery. “He’s freezing,” I uttered dully.

Cook grunted and crawled to the nearest chair, snatching a towel. 

“Alex,” I tried, combing his hair back. “Alex, can you hear me? Alexander?”

+

_“Oh yes, Alexander.”_

The nauseating waft of chlorine, combined with heavy hands pulling sharply at his wet skin caused Alex to flare to life, spitting and sparking like a Roman candle.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

His voice rang out and silenced anyone still left talking. Cook and Helders froze, but then they were back in action, with Cook turning Alex to his side, even as he fought every sickening press of fingertips to his skin.

“Leave it, oh _God_ ,” Alex sobbed, curling into himself. “Joost go, it’s _done_ ,” he gasped, starting to violently tremble.

He felt someone wrap him in something, a towel perhaps, and voices shot through his liquid brain like razor blades. His lips were numb, fingertips and legs tingling, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the brightness, and the sudden wash of heat and light that swarmed the deck.

The clouds had moved, and Alex lay shivering as Miles knelt at his side, hands hovering, but not daring to touch for fear of another outburst.

Cook was already talking. “Let’s get him out of the heat,” he said, more to Helders than to Miles. Cook moved to lift Alex, but Helders stopped him with a hand and a shake of his head.

“I’ve got him,” he murmured softly, turning sad eyes back to Alex. He gently gathered the smaller man into his arms and repeated over and over, “It’s Matt. It’s okay. It’s me, it’s Matt.” And Alex, visibly rattled, let himself be carried, his hands curling into Helders’ shirt.

“Heat stroke,” Cook declared as he stood, his voice a little louder than necessary. The gathered crowd nodded and murmured their agreement, and slowly began to dissipate. “And probably one too many margaritas,” he added for the stragglers. His gaze cut towards Kane, who had paled considerably. “Let’s go see to your lad,” he suggested, tilting his head in the direction Helders had carried Alex.

Miles hesitated.

Cook’s mouth turned grim. “Fine. I’ll return with a progress report.” He turned on his heel and moved off deck.

+

Miles followed anyway, close on Jamie’s heels as they followed Helders through the yacht to the room that had been designated Miles and Alex’s. Moving ahead of Helders, Jamie marched to the bathroom and turned the shower on, and then stepped aside once he’d moved into the bedroom again. Helders carried Alex into the bathroom, shutting the door behind them, leaving Miles and Jamie to glare at one another.

Having already pulled on a t shirt, Miles now searched the top of the bedside table for a cigarette. When he came up empty handed he growled, and sank to the mattress, head in his hands.

“The fuck was that,” he questioned lowly.

Jamie glanced at the bathroom door as the sound of the shower running continued to muffle any sound coming within. When he looked back to Miles, Miles was staring back, waiting for an answer.

“He had a lot to drink,” Jamie murmured with a frown. “And it’s 37 Celsius out there. Maybe throwing him into the pool wasn’t the best idea.”

Miles snorted, and his brows knitted together. “You saying this is my fault?” He narrowed his eyes at Jamie.

“I’m saying it were an accident, brought on by a combination of outside forces. You...couldn’t have known what was going to happen,” Jamie finished in a dull voice. _But if you’d paid attention you’d know that Alex is terrified of water, or of pools at least_. Those handful of times Jamie had found Alex brooding near the pool in Venice, and then the night Homme had died...the younger man had clammed up as soon as Jamie had asked him about it. It didn’t take a genius to put it all together, but it did take observation.

It took setting aside one’s selfishness, too. Jamie’s fists tightened at his side, and he forced himself to relax, lest he launch himself onto the bed and rearrange Miles’ teeth.

“That’s right - I couldn’t have known, he doesn’t tell me anything, all he does is shut me out and get wasted-”

“Who the fuck introduced him to that lifestyle?” Jamie roared.

Miles shot from the bed, crossed the carpet, and was on Jamie in an instant. “You got a problem, Cook?” he snarled, fists curling into Jamie’s shirt. “Huh?” He shoved Jamie back into the wall. “You got a problem with how I run my show? What the _fuck_ did we talk about, or have you had one too many concussions to retain basic information?”

Jamie opened his mouth to reply when the sudden burst of Alex’s voice rang out from behind the bathroom door. The water cut off, and a string of curses followed. Helders was soon backing out of the bathroom, shutting the door once more.

“Look, you two fighting out here isn’t helping anything,” he growled. “Alex is-”

The bathroom door swung open in a billow of steam, revealing Alex’s lean frame with a towel wrapped low on his hips. He was still pale, purplish bruises making his large, dark eyes appear even more sunken. Pushing a hand back through his hair he eyed Helders first, and then looked to where Miles still held Jamie by the shirt collar. 

“Alex is _fine_ ,” Alex growled. “My fookin’ head is splittin’ open, but I’m fine.”

“Al,” Helders said softly. “You’re not-”

The sting from the stab of Alex’s gaze shut the bodyguard up.

“Oh, fuck, Alex,” Miles sighed, dropping his hands from Jamie’s shirt. He crossed the carpet and raised his hands to cup Alex’s face.

Alex forced himself to stay still, and when Miles’ palms landed on his cheeks, he closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. “I’m fine,” he murmured, voice going thick. “I’m tired,” he added, adrenaline draining from his body. He felt the warm press of Miles’ forehead against his.

Moments passed and then Miles turned to where Jamie and Helders stood and watched the exchange.

“You can leave now,” Miles snarled. “The both of you.”

When they were alone, Alex staggered to the bed and collapsed, curling onto his side. Miles crawled after him, pulling the blankets up around Alex’s body. The slighter man’s breathing slowed, and for a moment Miles thought that Alex had drifted to sleep.

“D’you remember that first morning?” Alex suddenly whispered, cheek pressed to the pillow and eyes closed.

“Hmm?” Miles asked, drawing his fingertips lightly over Alex’s cheekbone. The scar there had faded, but it was still present.

Alex’s hand came up and curled around Miles’, and he drew it from his face and held it under his chin, fingers clasped. “The night we met. At the Bowery.”

Miles grinned at the dreamy state of Alex’s voice. “How could I forget? You were about to have your ass handed to you in a bathroom. Saved this pretty face, didn’t I?” Miles added, dropping a kiss to Alex’s nose.

“Hmm,” Alex murmured. “How come...how come you didn’t make a move? Like...you know.”

“I told you then: you aren’t the type for one-night stands.”

“What type am I?” Alex whispered, drifting further towards sleep.

“The forever type,” Miles said without hesitation.

Alex’s mouth fell to a pout, and he nodded. “Oh.”

Miles’ leg slid between Alex’s and he drew his hands down the lean body before him, pulling him closer even as Alex drifted further towards sleep. “Isn’t that why you stayed?” Miles asked. “To be mine forever?” He waited for an answer that never came.

Alex was already gone.

+

The engines of the yacht have stopped humming. I think that’s what has woken me; or maybe it was the dream residue sticking in my brain. Something about drowning. Was it all a dream? I’m surrounded by white duvet, white pillows, white sheets, soft as a cloud. It’s not unlike that first morning, save that it is evening now. The sky outside the windows is blushing, violent peach and tangerine. And instead of Miles bursting into the room to rouse me, he is at my side, one long-fingered hand curled over my hip and holding me down.

One of his legs soon works its way to trap mine, and he shifts closer, somehow always knowing when I’m awake beside him. The hand on my hip goes up, slides over my torso, my chest, flits over my throat and pauses there, catching my breath. I honestly can’t tell if I want this or not; I know where it’s going.

“Are you mine?” Miles’ question crawls over me as he does the same. 

“Miles?” I say, eyes fluttering as his hands become hot, and heavy.

“God, laa, I’m sorry. Sorry for today, sorry for everythin’. I promised to keep you safe an’ I broke that promise. I’m not that man, you know that, right? Homme made that man.”

 _Homme made me this man_ , I want to reply. The urge to shove Miles off creeps up my body like a wave of nausea and I arch beneath him in discomfort.

Signals get mixed, like text without intonation, without context. Taking it for encouragement, Miles becomes fevered and my breath stutters and comes faster. His lips taste like salt, and chlorine, and I tear my mouth away with a growl, clasping my fingers at the back of his neck.

My next move surprises him, turning him beneath me and pushing him up so that he lounges against the headboard. Climbing into his lap I take him inside without preamble, and a lot of lube, and then I use him in all the ways I know he uses me. My cock, flaccid when I’d woken, barely hard when Miles’ affection had ascended, now takes up the challenge, and when Miles reaches for me my hand nudges his aside and goes to task, while my other hand clamps over the nape of his neck. Our foreheads will have marks from where they are pressed together, to match the bruises the press of his fingers will leave on the outsides of my thighs. I squeeze my eyes shut as I fuck him, and fuck him, and fuck him, forgetting everything in an attempt to feel something. Miles’ hands are just as fierce, his hips just as punishing, and I suppose we are both using each other. There’s an easy calm in that, perhaps, or maybe I’m just done lying to myself that this is anything beyond what we are in this moment. It’s good, but not enough, and my finish is less than satisfying. Miles, however, blooms warm and ruddy beneath me, his eyes bright and demanding. My lips on his are fleeting, but he barely takes notice, going limp beneath me, and dragging me along with him.

+

It’s dark when I stir once more, this time from the feel of Miles’ fingertips tracing over the hair on my arms. When I tense in his hold, he only tightens it, and presses his lips to my hair. “We’ll be in Sicily by morning.”

I don’t know what he expects me to say, so I nod, and turn away from where I know he’s watching me.

“Alex?”

I’m already sitting up and running a hand through my hair as Miles’ fingers spread over my spine.

“Me head is poundin’,” I admit. It’s the truth. The windows are open, cool sea air trailing in with sound of waves lapping the side of the yacht, and voices carrying on from another deck. I fumble on the bedside and find paracetamol, which is better than nothing I suppose. Cupping four in my palm I throw them back and drink the glass of water that sits there.

“When we get back to California, I’m going to see Clarke,” Miles announces.

I turn to stare at him from over my shoulder. “What about?”

“I’m thinking on a change of personnel.” He looks up from where he’s inspecting his hands. “Get rid of Cook. Keep Cas and the other three.” He’s gauging my reaction, and I keep my features neutral.

“And Matthew?”

Miles smiles and looks back to his hands, where he spins his rings around his fingers. “Helders isn’t going anywhere, love. He’s family.”

“So why Jamie?”

Miles’ eyebrow arches at the first name and I mentally kick myself. He doesn’t say anything, however, and continues to spin his rings for a moment. “He keeps pissing me off.”

I have to laugh at that. It seems a mite ludacris at the moment, but it the whole thing is absurd, really. “Miles, _I_ keep pissing you off and yet you keep me round.”

His mouth forms half a smile and he looks up finally. “Yeah, but I love you. Cook’s got no ties here.”

It’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. “No ties? Miles, he-” an unfamiliar flutter goes through my chest at the thought of what would have happened had Jamie not been present. “He saved your life,” I remind him.

 _And he was there for me when you left me bleeding_. The flutter, it seems, is not tied to what would have happened to Miles, but what would have happened to me, had Jamie not been present.

Our room on this boat suddenly feels entirely too small. Miles is already reaching for me when I stand, and snare a pair of briefs from the floor. “I should eat summat,” I sigh,

“You missed dinner. We both did,” Miles points out quietly.

“You want to-” I pause after pulling on lounge pants and a robe.

“No,” Miles replies softly. “Don’t be gone too long?” He adds a moment later, his voice hitching to hopeful.

I smile blandly. “Where else am I gonna go?”

+

_Palermo, Sicily_

La Vucciria was a buzzing hive of activity, locals and tourists alike. The outdoor market on the port of Palermo was popular with those visiting Sicily, and many of those that lived on the island made their life’s work there, too. Having docked only an hour prior, following breakfast on _The Doherty_ , Barât led a party that included Alex and Miles, Casablancas, Valensi, Cook, and a handful of Barât’s own men, into the market to meet with his buyer at the _Piazza Caracciolo_ , where fishermen displayed and gutted their bounty for fat wallets, and stray cats curled round the legs of the trestle tables, waiting for a free meal. 

The authenticity combined with the history of the market itself, dating back some 700 years, delighted Alex as he walked with his arm linked through Miles’. The sights and sounds were almost overwhelming, and the scent just as powerful, but he took it in with wide-eyed interest, even pausing now and again to stare up at the archway of a structure, or the colorful banners boasting vendors’ names and goods.

“We’ll be sure to come back this way,” Barât announced, not missing Alex’s intrigue. “Perhaps find something suitable for Gio to cook for supper tonight?” The Frenchman added, hinting at yet another meal that would be as grand as the ones during the crossing.

“And maybe look around?” Alex ventured carefully. Miles glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, but Alex merely shrugged. “Can’t talk shop all morning, can we?”

Barât chuckled at that. “No, I suppose we can’t.” He paused before they passed under an archway that led into a small courtyard, and he took his sunglasses off to look at Alex. “Something tells me you’re more pleasure than work, Alex.”

Alex shrugged. “When in Rome, yeah?”

“Hm,” Barât nodded. “Or Palermo. This way. Daniel said he’d meet us at _Il Pesciolino_.”

It was a routine job, or so Barât said. Daniel Morrison was a runner in the arms dealing circle, moving money and product from consumer to provider, and then seeing the product safely into the new owner’s hands. According to the Frenchman, dealings would take an hour, more or less, but he’d wanted to give Miles an idea as to what went on in these meetings.

Alex, of course, had already been given a taste. He made a face of discomfort and shuddered where he walked next to Miles, and turned his attention to his surroundings once more. Dragging his gaze over the historic facades, he then glanced back at the men following behind them, and then froze when he discovered Jamie was watching him.

Had it been a week prior, Alex might have bristled under the scrutiny. As it was, he found himself tilting his head, acknowledging that he had in fact noticed Jamie’s attention, and he was curious about it.

He _shouldn’t_ have been curious about it, but the moment overtook common sense. Miles was already walking away, and Alex’s arm was slipping from where he’d hooked it into the Scouser’s elbow. 

+

Jamie’s gaze flickered to the front of the group where Barât and Kane were talking, and, seeing them both distracted, he moved closer to Alex, even as the warning bells went off in his mind.

“Look a mite more lively than you did yesterday,” Jamie pointed out softly, taking in the impeccable line of Alex’s cream colored slacks and the powder blue shirt he wore unbuttoned to the sternum. The platinum chain at his neck glinted in the morning sun.

“Aye, well,” Alex chuckled, “Steered clear of the margaritas for the morning.” He slid a hand into his pocket and worked the toe of his loafer into a groove in the cobblestones underfoot. He shook his hair from his eyes. “S’pose I should thank you,” he murmured, before glancing around casually.

Jamie’s focus remained on Alex. “I hardly did anything - it was all Helders.”

Alex’s dark eyes flew to Jamie’s gaze. “You pulled me out,” he sputtered. “That counts for summat.”

“It’s my job, Alex.” _And the thought of someone...of **you** dying on my watch is terrifying_. Jamie clenched his jaw in lieu of emoting.

Alex laughed grimly. “Right,” he deadpanned. He was starting to see cracks in Jamie’s armor, but he wasn’t so cruel as to tear it down. He’d die if someone found his own chinks. “Probably didn’t know what you were signin’ on for when you got moved to our place.”

“You’d be surprised,” Jamie replied.

“And you just took the job, just like that?” Alex pressed.

“Just like that.”

Alex shook his head and narrowed his gaze at Jamie skeptically. “See, I don’t believe that.”

Jamie furrowed his eyebrows in question, and Alex continued.

“A man like you, Jamie, doesn’t joost...say, ‘Yes, Sir,’ not even to Clarke.” Alex shook his head. “It pisses Miles off, you realize. You doing as you please.”

“Look, Alex, I’m not here to win a popularity contest,” Jamie groused.

“I’ll say,” Alex laughed. “Still...you’ve...caught the attention of...a few people.” He quirked an eyebrow up at Jamie.

Jamie’s gaze narrowed at Alex’s cryptic words, and he opened his mouth to ask, even though he had an inkling as to whom Alex was referring to: it was not Miles.

 _That’s called flirting, you daft bastard_. Jamie ignored the thought and took a breath.

“Alex?” Kane called, causing both Alex and Jamie to pause.

“M’comin’,” Alex replied, his gaze still firmly on Jamie. He let his mouth curl into a small smile and then turned, and moved back to where Kane waited.

Jamie released the breath he’d taken. There were words waiting on the tip of his tongue, and for once he was grateful for Kane’s abrupt rudeness. He was dangerously close to stepping over the line of professionalism into intimacy, a change of tone and words. It was slippery slope downwards, but the traction he’d once thought he’d had was worn down to nothing, and in its place was the warning thrill of desire. He watched Alex walk away and kept his gaze level on the smaller man’s slender back, and perfectly combed dark hair as they moved out of the market proper and into one of the buildings. 

Before they entered, Barât paused and signaled Valensi, who moved forward without question. Cook stopped him, catching his eye. There was a silent exchange, one which both Kane, Barât, and Alex watched with curiosity. There was a faint shake of Cook’s head, a cut of his gaze to Kane before he looked back to Valensi, a warning implied.

“A precaution, that’s all,” Barât explained with a dismissive wave of his hand. He looked to Valensi once more, ignoring the way Miles noticeably bristled with the usurpation of command. “Head back to _The Doherty_ and get Fab. When you return, use the back way, oui?”

Valensi nodded and, without affording any sort of look to Kane, he turned back the way they’d come, and started towards the harbour.

Barât next led them through the front portion of the building, a cafe, and then towards the kitchen. Here, they descended steps that wound and went deep, and the surface of old stone was slick with years of use. The scent of sea water rose around them, and the air turned damp, and cool. It was dark, too, lit only by artificial light, and Jamie scanned the area, not liking how closed off they were down here.

“We’ve come back round to port,” Barât explained as the staircase opened up on moving water running underneath the streets of Palermo. “In ancient times, these underground channels were used to transport goods inland. Most of their entrances have been sealed since the Renaissance, but there are still a few in working order. They’re quite useful for these types of dealings.” He nodded his greeting to a few armed guards that lingered on the gangways, and then moved through a narrow passage. 

Miles followed, as did Alex, with Cook and Helders behind him, and Cas taking up the rear. The way was so narrow that Helders’ shoulders were in danger of brushing the wet stones; so low that Cas had to duck as he moved along. The lights that were wired above looked as though they’d been installed before the second World War, and threw barely enough light to cut features from the darkness. Once or twice Alex glanced behind him, eyes like volcanic glass, only to catch a glimpse of Jamie’s blue eyes, faceted sapphires that found somewhere else to look.

The passageway opened up into a cavern of sorts, with an arched opening cut into the rock that looked onto the sea and the nearby harbour. It was tucked far enough into the rock that it would take a little bit of searching to find it, but the daylight suddenly seemed very welcome, even after the fleeting darkness. Men moved up and down wooden gangways that were scattered among the dark water, hauling crates from a smaller ship that came inbound from a yacht anchored in the harbour. Towards one side of the cavern a few more men were gathered; two behind a makeshift desk of crates, heads close together as they spoke, while a handful more faced outwards to keep watch, semi-automatic rifles slung on their shoulders.

“Danny!” Barât shouted. The name echoed through the cavern and paused work. The men standing guard unshouldered their weapons, but Barât paid little mind, shuffling forward and waving like he was merely meeting a friend at a polo match, and not an underground smuggling bay.

One man behind the stack of crates looked up from the stack of papers spread out, and then elbowed the man next to him. Smiling, the first man came around the crates and extended his hand. “Carlos! You old dog, I thought you were coming next week!”

Barât smiled, though it was flat, and he took the hand offered and shook it swiftly. “Ah, Danny, you know how I like my surprises - allows me to get an idea of what goes one when I’m not around.” He glanced behind the crates at the other man. “ _Bonjour_ , Robert. Haven’t seen you in about six months.”

Robert shuffled uneasily and glanced at Barât’s company before slipping by the crate and crowding Danny’s side. Barât put his hand out and Robert hesitated, before he met the handshake with two fingers and a thumb. Barât frowned, turning the hand palm down in his grip and inspecting the place where his ring and pinky fingers used to be. “ _Mon dieu, mon petit frere_ \- what has happened to your hand?”

Robert curled his hand out of Barât’s grip and shoved it into his pocket, hiding the pink, puckered flesh where his fingers had been blown off. His green eyes flickered to Kane and he sneered. “Had a debt to pay,” he rasped, squaring his jaw.

Kane narrowed his eyes and unwound his arm from where he’d slipped it around Alex’s waist. He then stepped forward, past Barât, and peered at Robert.

“Morrison,” Kane chortled. “Didn’t make the connection until now.”

“Wait a moment,” Danny interrupted. “ _You’re_ Kane? You’re the one that shot my little brother’s fingers off?” His voice was cold.

Kane smiled wanly. “Well maybe he’ll think now before he goes borrowin’ that which don’t belong to him.”

Danny looked back to Robert. “The fuck is he talkin’ about?” Danny asked. “You said he just went crazy-”

“He _did_ go crazy, Danny! What kind of a psycho shoots a man’s fingers off for forty thou?”

“ _Fifty_ ,” Kane corrected smoothly. “And it weren’t even borrowed, mate, you took it with no intention of paying it back.”

“Jesus Christ, _Robert_ ,” Danny droned. “The fuck you thinkin’? If Kane’s workin’ for Barât, that means you’re stealin’ from my own pocket. Fuck, this is just like when we were kids-”

“I’m not workin’ for Barât, I’m workin’ for _me_. Always have been.” Kane turned to Barât. “I wouldn’t trust either of them,” Kane sniffed, shaking his head.

“What the...Barât...Carlos, I’ve been running things for you for how long, mate? Three years? Maybe four? And in that time, have I ever done anything to make you suspect my loyalty? For fuck’s sake, you’ve said it yourself: Kane is a loose canon. Bobby’s hand is proof of that.”

With a dramatic sigh, Barât ran his hands over his hair and turned on his heel to pace a small path back and forth. “You see, now I am concerned. On the one hand - excuse the expression, Robert - I’ve got your years of service, as you’ve so kindly pointed out, Danny. Yes, we’ve known each other for some time, and you’ve always come through on your end of the bargain. On the other hand, Miles here is a stellar example of how to get shit done.” He paused here, and a strange silence crept over the meeting. Glancing up, he looked from one side of the cavern to the other, and then began pacing once more, his speech continuing.

“So, I’m at an impasse, of sorts. A conflict of the heart.” He placed his hand on his chest with the last words and let his shoulders slump. “ _C’est malad, mon coeur_.” He affected a small pout. “ _Alors_ , here is what I am thinking. Danny,” he began, turning to the man in question, “I have always enjoyed our dealings. You are intelligent, and you have foresight, and a way with numbers. One might say you are too intelligent for your own good.” Danny smiled, and glanced at his brother and his guards, pride welling with Barât’s words. Barât, however, didn’t smile back. He went on. “ A man with your talents wouldn’t waste them solely on a poor Frenchman who buys guns and sells them to the highest bidder; it seems like such a waste.

“And Miles,” Barât said, turning to Kane, his face beaming. “Miles, _mon frere_ , I have always envied your style, your tenacity, your _drive_ and desire to make things happen. After what you did to Homme-” and here, Barât paused and effected an animated shiver - “well, I know not to piss you off. Wouldn’t you agree, Robert?”

Robert ran his good hand over the space where his fingers had been and he scowled, and quickly looked away.

Barât turned now and looked straight at Danny, unblinking. “Fab, Valensi,” he said out loud, “ _per favore_.”

The quick _zip-zip_! of bullets snapping from the muzzles of sniper rifles cut through the space, and the men guarding the Morrison brothers fell like sacks of cement. Those working near the crates looked up, horrified, and a rapid delivery of expletives in French and Italian filled the space as the workers thundered up the gangways and began filing out of the cavern.

“Friends in the right places,” Barât drawled, clapping his hands together. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes. To trust Morrison, or to trust Kane.”

+

Alex had started at the sound of bullets, and at once he felt like he was back in the hangar in New York. When the first body had fallen, his instinct was to cling to Miles, but his path was blocked automatically, not by Helders, but by Jamie. A few seconds after the last of the workers had fled the scene, Barât moved towards the crates upon which the Morrison brothers had spread their work. Fab appeared from out of nowhere, it seemed, though Valensi stayed hidden, and Cas moved back towards the main entrance to stand guard.

“I think,” Barât began anew, “it was Hemingway who once said, ‘The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.’ I know that you, Miles, understand this better than most men. After all, you let the wolf in the door. But you accepted responsibility for that, and took care of it, and I admire that. So, I’ll take a page from your book, I suppose.” Turning on his heel he looked back to the Morrison brothers. “And I’ll accept my shortcomings in trusting these two.”

“Carlos,” Danny began, shaking his head. “Whatever you’re thinking - whatever you’ve heard, it isn’t...it’s not…”

“What? Eh? _Qu'est-ce que c’est, Daniel_? Hmm? What have I heard? You tell me.”

“The fuck, Danny,” Robert muttered, glancing between his older brother and Barât.

Barât snapped his fingers at Fab who moved forward and used the butt of his rifle to buckle Robert at the knees. The younger Morrison hit the stone and grunted, and shook his head warily. 

“No, wait, it wasn’t me - Danny, what the _fuck_ did you do? Barât - Carl, listen, I can...we can make a deal, please, I whatever happened, I didn’t have anything to do with it-”

“Shhhh,” Barât hushed, putting a finger to his lips. He swept the papers off of the top crate and then shoved it off of the stack. Grabbing a nearby crow bar, he swung it round once as he neared Robert, and Robert flinched, but was shoved back into place by the barrel of Fab’s rifle pressing into his back. “Come now, Robert. This is old hat by now, isn’t it?” This time, when Barât swung the crowbar, he brought it overhand and with a swift, heavy arc, he smashed it down into the crate, splintering the top and startling Robert once more. 

Using the hooked end, Barât pried away the remaining parts of the crate and then shifted the packing straw around until he uncovered what he was looking for. “Ah, here we are. Straight from Georgia. When did I tell you to stop buying from the Ukrainians?”

Danny sputtered and shook his head, looking from where his brother knelt shaking, into Barât’s cold stare. “I...you...It was only this one time, I swear, I thought…”

“You thought _what_ , exactly? That you were saving me a bit of cash? Hmm? I know for a _fact_ that weapons and ammunitions coming out of the country of Georgia are not only sub-par, but they cost half as much. You supplied me with a price for weapons ordered from the Ukraine, Morrison, two million American dollars.”

Danny gaped, but said nothing.

“So, not only was I in danger of supplying shitty weapons to the Armenians, you embezzled one million dollars from me.”

“No, wait,” Danny whimpered, watching Barât approach Robert.

“Two fingers for fifty thousand, is that the going rate, Kane?” Barât snapped. “How many fingers between the two of you? Eighteen? That’s what, nine hundred thousand?”

“Oh shit,” Robert warbled from his spot on his knees. “Oh, fuck, please, no, you can’t.”

Barât swooped forward, seizing Robert’s half-hand and slammed it to the edge of the crate he’d just split open. “I can,” Barât growled, raising the crowbar once more, “and I _will_.” He brought the bar down and smashed it into Robert’s hand, shattering his middle and pointer fingers in the process. Robert screamed and fell forward, reaching to cradle his mangled hand, but Fab caught him, and held him steady.

“I trusted you,” Barât shrugged, weighing the crowbar in his hand. He swung it around for show, and both Morrisons flinched. “And now I know I can’t trust either of you.” He glanced up and nodded at Kane. “Miles, love, it seems as though Robert is going to come up short again. One million at eight percent over five weeks. How much does that come to?”

“Don’t rightly know,” Kane drawled, pulling his gun from inside his jacket and aiming it at one of Danny’s feet. “You’re good with numbers, Danny boy. What does that come to?”

“I - I don’t-”

“Danny,” Kane sang, cocking his gun. “Come on, add it up.”

“Oh _fuck_! Okay, all right…” He squeezed his eyes shut, sweat beading on his forehead as he calculated the daily interest rate. “One….one million, s-s-seven-thousand, six hundred and seventy-one d-dollars,” Danny stuttered. “And twenty three cents.”

“Shit, right to the penny. He is good,” Kane chuckled, looking to Barât.

“I know,” Barât pouted. He patted his jacket down and found a cigarette, one handed, and leaned for Fab to light it. “It’s so hard to find someone so good with numbers these days. You don’t even need a calculator, do you? So, that means we’re about one hundred and eight thousand dollars short.” He blew out a plume of smoke and scratched his head. “How many toes is that?”

+

From his place behind Jamie, Alex had stared in utter horror as Miles moved forward. It was like Venice all over again, that first time, and he half expected to feel a gun in his own spine, keeping him in place. Instead it was Jamie’s gentle hand firmly pressing against his midsection, once more shielding him from the action. Alex was grateful for it. He shivered at the cold cruelty in Miles’ face, in the calculating chuckle, and the casual cadence of his words. It was too much like Barât for Alex’s liking; he knew first hand what Barât was capable of, the events of that first day had come back to Alex in fast, racing clips of blood and cocaine. Barât was unhinged, and to see Miles lurking at the foot of that path made Alex wary. 

The first strike of the crowbar against Robert’s hand had made Alex jump, and he quickly looked away as Robert’s screams, and the dull thud of iron on flesh, echoed wetly in the cavern. Bile crawled in Alex’s throat and he made a sound of discomfort, causing Jamie to turn and look.

“All right?” Jamie murmured, taking his attention from Barât and Kane and focusing on Alex.

Alex shook his head and pressed the back of his shaking hand to numb lips as his stomach turned once more. “Need some air,” he muttered. He was already headed back towards the narrow passageway they’d come through when he heard footsteps, and felt a steadying hand grip his elbow.

“Easy,” Jamie soothed. “Let’s get you outside.”

“Alex,” Miles barked.

Both Alex and Jamie paused and looked back to where Miles had left Danny’s side. “The fuck you going?”

“I...don’t feel well, Miles. Still out of it from yesterday,” Alex added, holding Miles’ stare.

The look he gave Alex was wary, and he glanced to Barât who was waiting patiently, crowbar resting on one shoulder. Barât shrugged and then gestured to where Robert still groaned in agony. “Well? Shall we continue? If he’s not up to it, he’s not up to it, Miles. Let him go, Cook will keep an eye on him, won’t you, Cook?”

There was reservation in Miles’ expression as he looked back to Alex, but he nodded faintly. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, fine, go on then. Get some air. We might be a little while.”

Alex made a face and nodded. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Miles looked at Jamie. “You’ll call me if anything happens.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jamie nodded shortly.

+

The faint sound of Barât and Miles continuing their game dogged Alex every step of the way, Jamie on his heels. Their pace was quick as they moved back through the passage, up the stairs and into the kitchen of the cafe, Alex moving faster as he got closer to the surface so that Jamie actually had to work to keep up with the smaller man. Winding through the tables clumped together in the cafe, Jamie followed Alex out onto the patio, where Alex suddenly stopped and let out a breath before inhaling deeply and holding it for a moment. He exhaled slowly, and then inhaled once more, and repeated the process a few times before colour crept back into his cheeks and his shoulders relaxed.

“I need a minute,” Alex explained.

Jamie shrugged. “Take all the time you need.”

Nodding, Alex moved out of the cafe’s patio gates and into the street, slowly wandering back towards the market. Jamie moved to catch up and then matched Alex’s languid pace, glancing at the younger man every now and then for any sign of life beyond his body’s movement.

“You’re starin’,” Alex pointed out as the noise from La Vucciria rose in volume.

“I’m not-”

Alex stopped and turned abruptly, giving Jamie a pointed look. “Yeah, you are.”

Jamie tucked his hand into his pocket and ran his other one over his hair before glancing back towards the cafe. “What was that?” He looked to Alex once more. “Back there?”

“Didn’t really feel like watchin’ ‘im torture someone.” Alex turned and slipped into the throng of people swelling around them, and Jamie dodged individuals to keep the lithe frame in sight. 

Alex came to a stop a few booths into the market, this one boasting vibrant bushels of herbs, fresh tomatoes, aubergines, onions, and olives. He pretended to be interested in the produce, waving away the merchant’s attempt to lure a sale, and well aware of Jamie’s eyes still watching him. He was becoming rather accustomed to the weight of those eyes.

“That bothered you?” Jamie asked skeptically.

Alex sniffed and flicked his hair from his eyes, gazing at Jamie levelly. “I need a drink,” he decided. “Let’s go get a drink.”

Jamie cracked a smile and glanced around. “I think we should go back to the boat.”

“No,” Alex answered with stark finality. “I want out. I’m out. C’mon, we’ll find summat.” On a whim, Alex curled his fingers into the cuff of Jamie’s suit jacket and tugged him from the stall, and moved towards the food district of the market.

+

Alex led Jamie to a small bistro aptly named _La Cucina_ , where they were shown a small table in an intimate corner of the patio. Once seated, Alex ordered beers and a charcuterie board for two, all in rather impressive Italian. While they waited for their beers, Alex slipped off the patio and came round to their table, and lit a cigarette. He leaned against the little wrought iron fence that separated the patio from the street and smoked slowly, and silently, watching the crowd move by.

“Where’d you learn Italian?” Jamie ventured casually.

Alex shrugged, and threw Jamie a coy look. “One of my professors was Italian.”

Jamie squinted curiously. “You were a language student?”

“Hardly,” Alex mused, smoke curling from his nostrils. “I were an art student.”

“So, what, she just, taught you the ins and outs of ordering at an Italian restaurant?”

“No,” Alex replied with a bit of snark, “ _He_ was a complete gentleman, and courted me rather romantically.”

Jamie nodded and took a sip of his beer.

“Fucked like a brute, too. Huge cock.”

The mouthful of beer Jamie had taken suddenly spewed out and he coughed, and sputtered, drawing a few curious glances. Grabbing the cloth napkin from the table Jamie swiped at his shirt and his slacks as best he could, glaring at Alex with one eyebrow cocked dangerously.

“M’sorreh,” Alex laughed. “Did that come as a shock?”

“I wasn’t expecting it, yeah,” Jamie rasped.

Alex chuckled again and pitched the last of his cigarette to the curb before hitching a leg up and over the fence, climbing back into the patio. He sat down in front of Jamie and picked up his beer. “I didn’t think it were possible,” Alex continued. “For you to be shocked.”

“It doesn’t happen often.”

“Hmm. Where’d you learn the guitar?”

Jamie’s brow furrowed as he rolled the question around. “I’m...ehhhh...high school, actually.”

“Music career didn’t seem like a viable option?”

“Mm. Me da wanted more for me. Said that football would get me the scholarship.”

“So, what happened?”

Jamie paused as the waiter approached their table and set down the board laden with several types of local fare: sausage and salamis, cheeses, olives and grapes, focaccia, and olive oil, and an assortment of tapenade. When the table had been set, the waiter disappeared, taking an order for another round of beers with him. 

Jamie watched as Alex tucked in and began piling meat and cheese on a slice of bread, slathering it with olive tapenade, and plopping a few grapes onto his plate. He followed suit, taking a few things to pick at while he picked up the question Alex asked a moment before.

“I’d been playing footie since I was old enough to walk, yeah? All the way through grade school, into sixth form, and on into uni. Was a right winger, sometimes second striker. I wasn’t half bad, either - good enough, at least, to garner a scholarship. Come my third year, we’d been undefeated for five years running, and we were hell-bent on defending that streak. I think it were...semi-finals we were practising for...shit, yeah, it was a practice, weren’t even a proper game. Me knee got pulled back ninety degrees the wrong way.” He paused as Alex made a face. “Tore me ACL, put me out of the game for the rest of the season, and most of the pre-season, too. I fought to get up to playing form - my surgeon told me I would never regain full mobility of my knee, but I surprised him. Still, on those nights when I wasn’t working out, or sitting at practice helping the coach run drills, I was in the library studying. Da pushed footie, but I knew that it would only take me so far. I never played first string again. Missed my chance to go pro.”

“But you graduated,” Alex prompted. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Jamie nodded, taking a sip of his beer. “Yeah, I graduated. Full honors. Bachelor of Sciene.”

“What was your major?”

Jamie let out a little laugh. “Criminology.”

“You wanted to be a cop?” Alex sputtered.

“Yeah, well…” Jamie’s cheeks turned red as he reached for another helping from the board.

Alex was stunned into silence. “What the fook happened?” He finally asked.

“Thing about that is...the stupid things you do in your youth? They don’t ever really go away.”

Alex let out a breath and sat back, nodding slowly. “That why you’re like...good with a gun, yeah? An’ knowing how to...like...talk to people?”

“I wager that’s the reason, a bit at least. They don’t teach you how to use a gun in uni,” Jamie pointed out with a chuckle. “But you learn how to read people.”

“Bet that comes in handy in this line of work.”

“I’ve used it a time or two,” Jamie agreed.

Alex wanted to ask more, to ask Jamie what those things in his youth might have entailed, but something about his expression kept Alex from asking those questions.

“An’ what about you?” Jamie swerved the conversation. “You said you were an art student. What kind of art?”

“Painting, mostly,” Alex shrugged. “Some sculpture and pottery but...me main focus was painting.”

“And? Did you graduate?”

Alex shook his head, staring down at his plate. “No,” he softly replied.

“Why’s that?” Jamie gently pressed.

Alex lifted his shoulder and gave Jamie a sad smile. “Met Miles. Didn’t need to finish school now that I had someone who could give me anythin’ I wanted.”

Jamie shook his head. “You don’t believe that.”

“I did,” Alex sighed. “I _do_. It were watches and cars and clothes, jetsetting around the globe...An’ it’s still like that,” Alex insisted.

Jamie fell silent and turned his gaze to the street and the activity passing by. “Yeah, he’s just broadened his horizons, I suppose. Tell me, when you first got together, did he give you a black eye before he gave you a watch, or was that a later addition?” He looked back to Alex expectantly.

“I told you...it’s different now. He’s past that.”

Jamie made a sound of disbelief. “And yesterday? At the pool? You said no and he didn’t stop.”

Alex swallowed thickly, the food in his mouth gone sour. His cheeks burned as he quickly looked away from Jamie. “I were being a brat is all,” he answered with a wavering voice. “It were joost swimmin’ an’ I was being dramatic.”

Sliding closer on his seat, Jamie leaned across the table and kept his voice low. “No,” he growled. “It was more than that, Alex. You went into shock. You were practically comatose when Matt pulled you out of that water and you went into full panic mode when Miles touched you.”

Alex shifted in his seat but remained silent. Tears welled in his eyes and he frantically wiped at them lest they fall.

“He’s a bully, Alex, anyone can see that. I’ve known you for what...two months? Three at the most, and I am well aware that you’re terrified of swimming pools, and yet Helders tells me that you would swim every day right up until the time Miles was shot. If Miles hasn’t gotten that into his head, then he’s negligent, too, of your feelings, and your well-being. You could have drowned. So what’s he gonna buy you this time to smooth things over? A house?”

Alex flinched, his mouth pressing into a hard line.

Jamie frowned, and softened his tone. “What are you afraid of?”

“I...I…” Alex shook his head stubbornly.

“You want to tell someone, Alex, and you should.” He waited patiently, watching as Alex mulled over the opportunity. When it seemed like he wasn’t going to budge, Jamie sighed and sat back once more. “All right,” he nodded. “Then...can you tell me why we suddenly had to leave Barât’s meeting? I don’t have to tell you it pissed Kane off.”

“I told you, I didn’t want to watch him torture someone.”

“A week ago you watched him feed Homme to a crocodile.”

Alex finally looked back at Jamie, scowling as he did. “That were different. Homme tried to kill Miles.”

“This man threatened Barât’s well being - you do know what the Armenians would do to him had they been shipped sub-par weapons, don’t you? Trust me, it’s far worse than whatever Barât is doing right now.” Jamie shook his head. “Someone is always trying to kill someone, Alex. That’s what this life is.”

“No, this were...Homme...that were different.”

“ _How_?”

“It joost is, all right?” Alex hissed, glancing to make sure they weren’t overheard.

 _Finally_ , Jamie thought. _We’re getting somewhere_. He waited a beat and then leaned towards Alex once more, his eyes flitting over the pale scar on his cheekbone, the one that had been a fresh wound when he’d first arrived at Kane’s home. He remembered quite vividly the state both Homme and Alex had been when they arrived at Marco’s compound; the next day Fab had debriefed Jamie of the events leading up to securing Homme and loading him into the car.

_“Had the kid pinned to the ground, Cook,” Fab had said in a hushed tone. “Turner was fightin’ him like a rabid pup, I swear. Sliced Homme up pretty good, but not before he’d taken a round or three.”_

Jamie placed his hand on the table next to Alex’s and looked straight into Alex’s eyes. “Was it personal?”

Alex’s body tensed and his arms crossed over his chest, hands shaking as he did so. He cast his gaze from Jamie’s, staring at the back of Jamie’s hand where it still rested on the table.

Jamie pressed further. “Did Homme...did he _hurt_ you, Alex?”

Alex gasped then, tight and shuddering, and his hands flexed and then sailed to his face, the heels of his hands pressing to his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this, Jamie,” Alex warned.

“So there _is_ something to talk about?”

“Not here,” Alex snapped, dragging his fingers through his hair before he reached for his beer and drained the last of it.

With perfect timing, the waiter approached with the next round of beers, and to ensure that everything was satisfactory. When they were alone again, and Alex had taken a sip of a fresh beer, and looked at Jamie once more.

“Who taught you guitar?”

Pursing his lips, Jamie sat back. “We’re back to this now?”

Alex’s eyebrow crooked, his eyes darkening in challenge.

“Right,” Jamie muttered. “A girl, actually,” he breathed. “Hannah. That was her name. Her dad was a folk musician. Me own da didn’t much care for him but...she was really pretty. An’ she taught me how to strum a G chord.” Jamie winked. He reached for his own beer and took a sip. “D’ya play?” He asked, once he’d swallowed. If Alex wanted to change the subject, Jamie would do so accordingly.

Alex shook his head. “Not really, no. I learned in college, too. From a girl,” he smiled softly. “Ah...Sarah. Lived a few doors down from me.” He reached for his beer.

“And did she fuck like a brute, too?” Jamie asked pointedly, just as Alex took a sip.

He didn’t sputter, but he definitely let out a startled breath into the surface, causing the beer to spray out. A second later and Alex was laughing, his smile broad, the corners of his eyes creasing, and Jamie had to laugh, too. It was just like that first time, back in Venice, when he’d taught Alex how to use a gun. Take him away from Kane, it seemed, and the young man flourished, and forgot to be afraid.

“God, m’not a slag, _Cookie_ , I didn’t sleep with everyone.”

“Oh, just a few then?”

“Please, like you weren’t gettin’ trim everywhere you went, Mr Star Footie Player. ‘Sides, Sarah weren’t exactly me type.” Alex paused and raised his eyebrows at Jamie.

“And what is your type?”

“For starters, a cock is a must,” Alex explained.

“Of course,” Jamie nodded. “And money?”

“No,” Alex frowned, shaking his head. “No, it were never about the money.”

“Then what was it about?”

Alex bristled. Somehow, they’d ended up taking about Miles again. Reluctantly, he gave Jamie an answer. “Miles took an interest in me, like no one ever had before.”

Twisting his napkin under his fingers, Jamie nodded, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from lashing out. “Sometimes too much of an interest can be...dangerous.”

“He took care of me,” Alex said thickly. “Isn’t that...I mean, isn’t that everyone’s goal? To have someone to take care of you, and for you to take care of in return?”

“The only person that can take care of you is _you_ ,” Jamie vowed.

“Didn’t she take care of you?” Alex asked, blinking long lashes at Jamie. Those dark eyes were shining in the late morning light. “The one who...you know. You loved her, and you took care of her. She must have done the same-”

“She didn’t,” Jamie cut off, curling his hand around his beer. “And I shouldn’t have, either.” He looked Alex square in the eye. “Love and charity aren’t interchangeable. It doesn’t work that way.”

Alex wanted to say more, but the rawness of Jamie’s voice made him think better of it. Instead, he helped himself to more food, and the two ate in the silence between them, surrounded by the din of the late morning market.

+

“We should be heading back,” Jamie frowned as I signed the receipt for our meal.

I sighed. We’d been in Italy for two weeks and I’d barely seen any of it. I’d been before, and had always wanted to come back; when Miles had mentioned getting away from LA, I knew business would be involved to a degree, but it seemed to be the main focus. I was expected to laze around the pool, an activity that proved to be far more harmful than I cared to admit at the time. Jamie could see right through me, I knew it, but he knew well enough to leave it be when I changed subjects.

“Yeah,” I muttered, standing and picking up my coat from where I’d draped it over the back of me chair. Shrugging into it, I glanced about the immediate area to the nearby stalls and vendors.

“C’mon, we can look on the way.”

“Me first time in Sicily,” I lamented, “an’ Miles wanted to keep me in the sewers.” I chuckled at the absurdity as I led Jamie back into the streets. 

“What would you do otherwise?”

“Dunno,” I shrugged. Of course I knew, I knew perfectly well what I’d do given leave. “Maybe like...a museum, or a gallery, just...local flavour.”

“That prosciutto wasn’t flavour enough?” Jamie asked, suppressing a soft burp.

I laughed. At times Jamie could be so cold and buttoned up, but it seemed to be that taking the formality of work out of the mix was the way to get him to relax. I hadn’t forgotten about the day he’d shown me how to shoot a gun, and I certainly hadn’t forgotten about the night of Homme’s death when he’d cleaned me up, held me back.

“I mean like...I used to check out places like that all the time. It was sort of par for the course at school, at least.”

“Do you miss school?”

We’d wandered down one of the main streets and found ourselves among the local artisans selling their wares - leather workers, painters, wood carvers, silk merchants, and more, lined the street. A crowd was gathering at the opposite end and I moved towards it.

“In a way, I do, I suppose. I miss the people.”

“You don’t strike me as the overly social type.”

I shrugged. “I like to observe. That’s what artists to.” My words came absently as I neared the crowd and took in what was happening.

One of the artist’s booths - a painter - was set right near a blank wall, or what had once been blank, but was slowly filling up as tourists and locals picked up brushes and dabbed paint, and left their mark in a beautifully chaotic mural. There were words, quotes, initials, happy faces, trees, grassy hills, stick-figures, boats in the harbour, small animals and creatures not yet discovered by man. It was like a dream, perhaps, a living testament to the people coming and going from this artist’s world.

I had already moved behind a few people gathered and reached down for a paintbrush. Looking up and catching the eye of the artist there, I smiled and asked a few questions about their art in general, and the purpose for the street mural. He said that it would last a few days, like any vivid experience, but then the city would come and paint over them and the canvas would be blank once more. I suppose it was a statement regarding your subconscious being overtaken by the everyday, and I liked that. The artist, a man named Pietro, then urged me towards the colours.

“You look like a man who knows a thing or two about painting,” he said in Italian.

“A little, perhaps,” I answered, already looking at the wall.

I didn’t even know I’d loaded the brush with paint until the section I’d chose was awash in blues, and all shades. I must have looked mad, dashing to the pallet to pick up more paint, and at one point Pietro actually dabbed several pigments, with black and white in the mix, onto a palette and he handed it to me and nodded to where I’d been working. Quite the crowd had sprouted up around me as well, and while I could feel their eyes on me it was that one blue gaze...the blue I kept going back to...that was the only one that mattered.

“Alex,” I heard Jamie say sometime later.

I was breathing heavily, my hair hanging in my eyes, sweat beading on my brow. I turned at the sound of his voice, pulled from my own dream, and stared at him. “Jamie?” He was holding my jacket over one arm. When had I taken it off?”

“We really should get going,” he prodded gently. He seemed reluctant to tell me that; his eyes said as much.

“Right,” I panted. “Of...of course.” I looked back to the wall and bit my tongue at what I’d painted: the view was from the bottom of a pool, dark at at the edges, swirling into shades of blue, a light at the surface and the hint of a shadow at the edge. I stepped back a bit unsteadily and felt the way my right hand cramped where it still held the brush. Paint streaked my fingertips and my thumbs; it was under my fingernails, and already drying in places. The feeling of people watching me came back and it was unwelcome this time. I quickly handed off my brush and palette to Pietro, who insisted I come back in a few days. There was even a bit of applause as I turned and hurried away, ducking into a side street to hide.

Jamie jogged after me, skidding into the narrow street where I’d pressed myself against the wall, gasping for air, my head light, heart pounding madly. I felt like I was made of air, and I tingled everywhere. Jamie approached, watching me closely.

“Alex?” He gave a small chuckle and glanced back the way we’d come. “Put on quite a show back there. That was incredible.”

I still panted, pressing my hands against the cool stones of the wall. I closed my eyes for a moment, and then opened them in the next second. It was shadowed on this side street but everything was vibrant and alive. I could still see that colour blue and in the next moment my hands had moved, now landing on the warm, whiskered skin of Jamie’s face. I kissed him, rough and without much thought, desperate to do it, my blood needing it. When I pulled back he gasped softly, and pressed me back into the wall, kissing me back.

It was a stolen moment of scattered desire, hands clutching, lips sliding over lips, his knee pressing between mine. More than once I grunted my need and pulled at his hair, and he growled in reply, pushing his tongue into my mouth to silence me. Teeth collided, and hips did, too, and Jamie’s hand splayed down the outside of my thigh and lifted my leg around his hip as he rutted against me once more, and moaned into my mouth. It was intoxicating, and I clung to him, wrapping my fingers around his neck. He smelled like beer, and cologne, and skin and warmth, and he tasted even better. 

I was hard within seconds, raging and fantastic, all the blood rushing to that one point with such speed that I was whimpering, and needy. I tried as hard as I could to get closer to Jamie, almost panicking with the intensity of my sudden desire. He was hard, too, unbelievably, and I gasped and murmured a plea, sliding a hand between us to shamelessly grope him and squeeze. His lips came off of mine a scant inch, his breath hot against my mouth, and he swore an oath of defeat, before he licked my bottom lip and pushed his hips into my hand.

Suddenly, those hands that had pulled me close, held me steady, were pushing me away. I was pressed against the cool stones of wall once more, this time held at an arm’s length as Jamie stared at me with swollen lips and blazing eyes. “Alex,” he muttered once more, tongue flashing out to taste my kiss. He slowly shook his head, as if to tell us both that this shouldn’t happen.

I gulped, my breath coming rapidly, and slowly came back to myself. When Jamie was certain I wasn’t going to fall down, and he’d stopped shaking, he slowly took a step back, his hand leaving my shoulder, and he bent down and gathered my jacket from where he’d dropped it. He held it out to me and I took it numbly.

+

“There you are!” Helders called, moving down the gangplank. Behind him, _The Doherty_ bobbed where it was moored.

Alex cast a glance to Jamie who was, in fact, looking back at him. “Eh, yeah. Sorreh, we got...we went for summat to eat.” Alex shrugged and walked towards Helders. “Is he...is he waitin’ for me?”

“Miles?” Helders snorted. “No.” He shook his head. “He’s busy reveling in his...eh...display of power.” Helders frowned and looked to Jamie. He didn’t fail to notice the blond’s attention fixated on Alex. “You were in good hands, though, eh?”

Cook glanced at Helders and nodded stiffly. “Aye. Walked through the market afterwards. He got a little sidetracked.” He then nodded towards Alex.

Helders looked back to the dark-haired man and looked him over, his focus falling to the hands that twisted blue-tinged fingers together. “Al?” Helders asked, raising an eyebrow as he searched Alex’s eyes.

Alex shrugged. “Were paintin’, is all. Are we casting off soon?” He headed towards the gangplank and started up, and Jamie was close behind him.

Helders, however, put his hand out and planted it in Jamie’s chest, halting him. They both watched Alex board _The Doherty_ and disappear on deck before Helders turned back to Jamie and gave him a once over. Those sharp, dark eyes narrowed as they took in Jamie’s ruddy cheeks, and the dark blond waves that were slightly disheveled. “Paintin’,” Helders echoed flatly.

“Aye,” Jamie replied roughly. “Paintin’.” He pushed past Helders and made to move on deck.

“You might wanna...clean yourself up before you report to Kane,” Helders called up the gangplank.

Jamie turned and quirked an eyebrow at Helders. “What’s that?”

Helders touched his fingers to his left ear, and then tapped his jaw. As Jamie fumbled with his phone to open the forward-facing camera, Helders moved past him. Finally, when he had his phone in hand and the camera flipped, Jamie took stock in his appearance. There, on the edge of his ear, and along the underside of his jaw, were telltale slashes of blue paint, left there in the wake of Alex’s exuberance, a direct result of Jamie’s weakened resolve.

+

Alex wasn’t on the boat when Miles and Barât had returned earlier with their escort. Cook wasn’t there, either, but it was a small matter as Barât chattered on in Miles’ ear about how vicious Miles had been, how unforgiving, and how _“that, **mon frere** , is how you run an empire. Make them realize that you’re not to be trifled with, and you’ll go faster and farther than you could possibly imagine.”_

In the end, however, once Danny had authorized a wire transfer of sufficient funds to repay his debt into one of Barât’s holding accounts, and more than enough fingers and toes had been severed, the Morrison brothers were dispatched permanently, matching bullets put there by Barât and Kane.

“You’ve a taste for blood, Kane,” Barât had announced, lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he shuffled through Morrison’s files and scanned the numbers. “It will only grow stronger.” He frowned and looked about Danny’s makeshift workspace. “Honestly, I don’t know how one can work in such chaos.” Barât pouted and then moved a few more crates around. “Helders, come here and use your muscles. Cas, give him a hand.”

Between the two of them, Helders and Cas shifted a stack of crates and, directed by Barât, pulled one from the back near the wall, and set it down at his feet. PIcking up the crowbar, still coated with Morrison blood, Barât made short work of the lid and pried it back, and then used the bar to push aside more packing material. “ _Mon dieu_ , what is this?” Tossing the crowbar aside he reached into the crate and then lifted out a brick carefully wrapped and sealed. This is tossed to Cas, who caught it and produced a small switchblade from his hip pocket. Flicking it open, he dug the tip into the package and pulled out a lump of white powder.

Barât eyed the knife and approached, licking his little finger and then dabbing a small amount of powder from the end of Cas’ knife. He touched his tongue to his finger and then grinned. “It’s good, I’ll give him that. Kane,” Barât called, turning to Miles. “How would you like a taste?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. Miles slipped forward and bent over Cas’ knife, and snorted the little pile there. His head snapped back and he snorted and coughed, his eyes going wide. “That’s high quality,” Miles grinned, moving to look into the crate. A dozen bundles, minus the one in Cas’ hand, stared back at Miles. “What do you think it’s worth? One mil? One-point-five?”

“Easily,” Barât conceded. “I’m in a bit of a predicament, Kane. Drugs and guns don’t mix, too many middle men. I like to keep these things separate. I’m not a cocaine dealer, I’m an arms dealer.” He watched Miles pointedly. “I need someone to move this for me.”

“Here?” Miles asked with a chuckle. “Barât, I haven’t got contacts in Europe; you’re the only man I know-”

Barât clicked his tongue and waved Miles’ outburst away. “I’m not interested in excuses, Mies, I’m interested in results. Surely a man of your...charisma...can find a way to move it?”

“What’s your cut?” Miles asked.

Barât shrugged. “Two crates...I’ll take five hundred thousand for my trouble.”

“Three,” Miles countered.

“Miles, Miles, _Miles_ ,” Barât sang, moving forward and grasping the Scouser’s face between his palms. “This is my warehouse,” he began. “I don’t plan on hauling this back on The Doherty with me, so it’s going to have to be dealt with here and now. Four hundred.”

Miles smiled tightly in Barât’s grip as he quickly ran over names and numbers of people he could call. “If you want me to do this on short notice,then I need proper compensation, too. Three fifty,” he offered back to Barât.

Barât sighed and dropped his hands. “All right,” he agreed. “You drive a hard bargain, Kane, and we’re friends. And I’ve seen what you do to your enemies.” He gave a shudder. “I’d much prefer to stay on your good side.” He dropped his hands from Miles’ face and moved to the folding chair that had once been Danny’s. “So, what is your plan?”

In the end, Miles managed to arrange an under the table deal with someone Marco knew in Rome. Miles even chipped off two hundred thousand for Marco’s trouble, and secured a selling price of 2.5 million from the buyer. A yacht arrived from Marsala just past noon, smaller than The Doherty, and less conspicuous. Cas and Helders saw to the loading of two crates of cocaine onto the ship. By one pm, the company was back on _The Doherty_.

“You’ll have to contact Clarke, of course,” Barât said as he and Miles lounged on the upper deck. “Let him know what you’ve arranged.”

“Like hell,” Miles sputtered, face tipped to the sun. “The deal is out of his district,” he added smartly. “He’s not getting commission.”

Barât sucked his teeth and took a sip of champagne. They were already on their second bottle, waiting for lunch to be prepared. “Miles,” Barât said warily. He sat forward and took his sunglasses off, fixing the Englishman with his startling blue gaze. “It is not wise to try and underhand Clarke. He knows too many people. He’ll find out.”

Miles slid his own glasses up and glared at Barât. “Didn’t you say you wanted to stay on me good side?” The grin that followed was more of a snarl. “You keep this to yourself, and tell those who would talk that Miles fucking Kane is in charge here. Or people are going to lose a lot more than fingers and toes.”

+

We sloughed off the Sicilian coastline and prepared to head east so we could round the point to Catania. With land on our starboard side, I climbed the stairs towards the stern of the yacht and found a small space on an upper deck where I could lean in solitude. 

I hadn’t dared look behind me as I walked the gangplank onto _The Doherty_ ; Matt had stopped Jamie and I had a feeling that the fact we’d kissed was written all over both of our faces. I’d quickly made my way down the narrow hallway towards the bedroom I shared with MIles, and tucked into the bathroom where I took a few moments to scrub at the paint clinging to my fingertips, etched round my cuticles.

Up there on the deck, however, in the blinding sun of midday, the faint traces of blue were still there, and I worried a fingertip against them as I smoked, and exhaled thin trails of white that floated away on the humid air. When I closed my eyes, it was vivid and red: the image of being at the bottom of the pool warped any other picture I sought to conjure. Cigarette clutched between my knuckles, I curled my hands around the railing, and slipped my feet under the glass panel that served as a barrier between my and the ocean. Pressing up on my toes I leaned into the wind and inhaled shakily.

Exhaling, I opened my eyes and looked down, the dark blue waters of the Tyrrhenian sea rushing by, foaming white where the yacht cut the surface. I blinked away the brightness and inhaled once more as another set of hands settled on either side of mine. I felt the press of another body behind me, a nose tucking into the hair at the nape of my neck. With my next breath I closed my eyes once more and fooled myself into thinking it were anyone but - 

“You took off rather abruptly, dinnit ya?”

I swallowed tightly, and didn’t answer.

Miles moved a hand then, his long, elegant fingers drawing over my knuckles, rubbing at the blue spiderwebs of paint in the fine crevasses of my skin.

“What’s this, then?” He murmured against my cheek.

Turning my hand over in his, I shook my head. “Paint.”

He snorted. I didn’t like the sound of it, scoffing, mocking me with that one breath. “Thought you gave that up.”

I shrugged again. “It were nothing but a tourist’s whim. That’s all.” 

Miles grumbled something, and I sighed, and turned in his arms. “Mi, I’ve hardly seen anythin’ but Barât’s house an’ this boat.”

Cocking his head, Miles mock pouted at me. “Awww, baby, you feelin’ left out? I woulda taken you round’ if you’d waited for me.”

“Well, I didn’t want to rush you,” I answered archly, giving him a pointed look from over the rims of my sunglasses.

Miles’ smile flashed broadly, and he chuckled as I turned back to the ocean and frowned. I hated pretending any of this was normal, or acceptable. For the longest time I’d ignored it, felt it didn’t concern me. Now I was right in the thick of it.

“We haven’t really done anythin’ fun, have we, baby?”

I shrugged, and closed my eyes as his hand slid to my midsection and pulled me back against his body.

“I mean...I brought you to Italy to recharge...to get away from LA...and it’s like we never left. Let me make it up to you?”

“How?” I asked. My voice was so soft, I barely heard, and I doubted he did, either. Only hours earlier I’d lamented to Jamie about how I hadn’t seen any of Italy, but in that moment on deck with Miles I wanted nothing more than to be back on American soil. I wondered if it had anything to do with the company I’d been in.

“Barât told me of this little bed and breakfast in Catania,” Miles started. 

The way he brought it up, Barât right there in the mix, put me on high alert. The eccentricities that had made Barât so charming when I’d first met him were fading away to manic tendencies, and Miles seemed none the wiser. If anything, he seemed to be drawn to it, to take an interest in how Barât fucked with people’s minds and lives and got satisfaction from the taste of their fears.

“Oh?” I played along.

“Hmm,” Miles confirmed with a purr. “Very private, ocean views, short walk to the market and a little beach...you just say the word, and I’ll book the whole place, just you and me.”

“No one else?” I asked cautiously.

“No, laa,’’ Miles chuckled. “They can stay here on the boat. Want you all to myself.”

“Of course,” I heard myself say.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Good,” Miles replied.

+

Despite Miles’ offer to pay double for the night, the _Casa Talia_ wasn’t willing to put out any of their current guests until the next morning. It was a minor setback, but the look in Alex’s face when Miles told him the news seemed to be one of relief. He didn’t have time to press Alex about it, however. While they were seated on the forward deck after dinner, enjoying the sunset, a call came in the radio, on which Barât gestured for Valensi to take. When he came back a few moments later, his face was grim as he spoke to Barât, his eyes flicking to Kane now and again.

“That was Meighan,” Valensi announced. “Clarke called the villa demanding answers.”

Alex sat a little straighter and watched Miles closely.

“ _Quoi_?” Barât muttered. “Answers?”

Valensi took a breath. “He wants to talk to you,” he continued, turning his eyes on Kane. “And Meighan says he’s pissed.”

The jovial smile Miles had worn all day slowly began to fall as he sat up from the lounge. He reached for his shirt where he’d lain it aside and slipped it on as gooseflesh rose on his skin.

“Did he elaborate?” Barât asked, standing as Miles did.

“Do you think he needs to?” Miles growled. He shook his head and glanced back towards Alex with a wink. “Don’t look so worried, laa. Daddy’s joost goin’ t’talk shop for a moment. Have another drink - Helders, fix him another, yeah? Get one for me, too.” He squared his shoulders and held his head high, but his eyes were wary as he and Barât moved towards the bridge.

“Hail Meighan back in Capri,” Barât ordered as Valensi slid into the seat at the radio.

“Roger that,” Valensi replied. “This is _The Doherty_ , hailing mainland Villa Barat. Meighan, do you copy, over?”

“Copy that, Doherty, this is Meighan. That you, Valensi, over?”

“Roger, this is Valensi. Kane’s with me, and Barât. How urgent is this, over?”

“Urgent enough to call from where it’s three in the morning. I can patch you through now - I wouldn’t make him wait, over.”

Valensi stared at the radio console for a moment and then turned to Barât and Kane. “Your call. What do you want to do?”

“Patch him through,” Miles blurted out. If Clarke wanted to talk, he wouldn’t cower. He’d made his decision that afternoon; how Clarke had gotten wind so fast Miles wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to hide from a frail old man.

Barât grimaced, but he nodded at Valensi. “Kane’s in charge.”

“Copy that Meighan. Get Clarke on the phone, tell him Kane is here to take his call; let us know when you’re patching him through, over.”

“Roger that,” Meighan replied. 

There was a bit of static during the delay, and then Meighan came back to tell them that the call was connecting. A few seconds later there was a tinny echo of a ringtone. The call was picked up after the first ring, and Clarke’s craggy, weathered voice carried down the line.

“This had better be Kane.”

“Ehm...roger that, Mr. Clarke, this is Meighan in Capri. I’ve patched you through to the Doherty. This is an unsecured line, gentlemen. Let’s keep it clean, over.”

“Mr. Cooper Clarke,” Miles began in a strong voice. “Let me start by apologizing for the dreadful hour where you are. Had I known you were trying to get a hold of me, I would have arranged for it to be on your time.”

There was a delay, given the satellite relay, but Clarke’s reply came through crystal clear a second later. “Oh, _you_ would have arranged it, eh? You’re in charge now, is that it?”

Miles’ smile wavered at Clarke’s acidity. “No, sir that’s not what I meant, I was merely-”

“Well, you _must_ be in charge, Miles,” Clarke continued over top of the Scouser, “otherwise, what would make you think you could handle a business deal like the one you did this afternoon?”

Miles looked to Barât accusingly, and Barât held his hands up, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know…” Miles began.

“Don’t try to placate me, Mr. Kane. I may be old, but I’m not an idiot. That deal you ‘handled’ was in Homme’s jurisdiction. Where the bloody hell is Homme?”

“Sir, I’ve got the holdings - better than Homme could have secured in that deal.”

“I don’t need the compensation, I need the product. What I want to know is how the hell Homme could have let this deal fall apart?”

Miles let out a breath as he scrambled for something to say.

“Johnny, if I may cut in - Homme was indisposed. We had to act fast. The Morrison brothers, it turns out, were dealing with other prospective clients purchasing low-grade materials and had planned on selling them for twice the price to a third party, pocketing the difference. You know how I feel about these sorts of things.”

“I appreciated your situation, Carl, and you know that I don’t regularly interfere with your activities there. But when one of my men fails to check in, and then misses an important meeting, then of course I’m going to come looking for answers. The fact that you’re both dodging my question leads me to believe that there have been less than savoury activities going on that directly affect my personnel; activities, Mr. Kane, that I gave no authority to.”

Miles swallowed tightly, his fists clenching where he’d set them on the console. “With all due respect, Mr. Clarke, it was Homme that made the attempt on my life.”

There was a long silence after Miles’ abrupt admission, and glances were exchanged between him, Barât, and Valensi, who still held control on the radio. The silence grew and Miles’ pulse began to speed up.

“Did we get cut off?” Barât asked softly.

“Mr. Kane.” Clarke’s voice returned to them, cold and deadly as it echoed on the bridge. “You _will_ cut you pleasure cruise short and return to American soil _immediately_.”

“Sir, if I can explain-“

“You can explain it in my office in three days, Kane. _Three_ days. At that time we’ll discuss just who has authority over what. I _will_ hold you accountable for any and all infractions that arise from this move, make no mistake. You wanted to prove yourself, now you’ll get your chance.” There was a click, and then the dial tone of disconnect hummed over the line.

Barât watched Miles expectantly. “Well?”

With his jaw tight, and his voice ragged, Miles nodded to Valensi. “Change course for Capri, full speed ahead.”

+

Twelve hours later they were in the air, once more somewhere between Naples and New York. This time, however, there was no private jet; there hadn’t been time to charter one. Still, they flew first class, tucked into their respective pods for the Transatlantic flight. For the most part, the entourage slept. Though there had been complimentary champagne offered when they boarded their flight, all but Fab and Valensi turned it down, the other men caught up in their own inner workings. In fact, very little had been said on the short trip back to Barât’s villa, and during the subsequent packing of belongings for the trip back stateside.

_“I’m sorry we had to cut it short,” Miles had offered to Alex as they filled suitcases and cleared the decks in the bathroom._

_“It’s fine, really,” Alex replied with a shake of his head._

_Miles cocked his head to one side and watched as Alex folded clothes methodically and placed them in the bag without a hint of remorse._

_“You wanna go home?”_

_Alex sighed, and shrugged. “I just…I just wanna go back to how we were. How everything was before any of this.”_

_“God, sometimes I forget how young you are,” Miles murmured with an affectionate smile. “C’mere, laa.” He drew Alex into his arms and wound his own around the lean frame, pressing his face into the head of dark hair. “I promise that things are gonna be better now, yeah? No more hidden agendas. No more uncertainty. Once I smooth things over with Clarke, we’ll be up and running again, yeah? Just like we were.”_

_Alex lifted his head from where he’d lain it on Miles shoulder and gazed up at the older man. “Are you scared? Of your meeting with Clarke, I mean?”_

_Miles scoffed, rolling his eyes at Alex. “Hardly. He won’t be around much longer anyway; he **needs** someone like me, Al, baby. Someone who’s not afraid to take risks and get shit done. And that’s all I’ve ever done: given him results.”_

_Alex nodded, chewing on his bottom lip, not totally convinced of Miles’ confidence._

_Miles clicked his tongue and stepped back a few inches, cupping Alex’s face. “It’ll be fine, laa, I promise,” he murmured, angling his head to kiss Alex._

_There was a gentle knock on the door, and before Miles could touch his lips to Alex’s, Alex had turned his head towards the sound. Miles’ lips glanced off of Alex cheek and he growled, pulling the younger man’s face around once more._

_“Miles,” Alex gasped, finding no comfort in the touch of Miles’ lips. He let the Scouser kiss him anyway, though anything was dull compared to the kiss he’d shared with Jamie in Sicily. The thought hit him in the chest and he pulled away just as another knock sounded._

_“In a **minute** , for fuck’s sake,” Miles yelled._

_“We don’t have a minute, Mr. Kane,” Jamie’s voice came back. “We need to be in Naples in three hours.”_

_Miles’ closed his eyes and sighed, and then afforded Alex a smile when he opened them once more. “Always somethin’, innit? Just wait till I get you back home, laa. We ain’t leavin’ the bedroom for days, yeah?”_

_Alex nodded, trying to look eager. Torn between wanting to go home, and wanting to stay very far away, he gently disengaged himself from Miles’ hold and finished packing._

+

Unable to sleep for longer than a few hours, Alex found himself rousing at some point in the night. In the pod next to his Miles snored. Sitting up, Alex took note that most of the overhead cabin lights were off. When he’d boarded, he’d automatically taken note of where Jamie had been seated - on the single side, one row up. The light there was on, and he could just barely make out the top of Jamie’s blond head. Craning his neck didn’t do Alex any good; these pods were designed for privacy. He was curious though, and he slid his shoes back on and stood to make for the loo, and covertly check on Jamie at the same time. As he padded down the aisle he glanced in Jamie’s direction, noting that the blond was turned towards the window, and phone from his seat clutched in hand as he spoke in a lowered tone. Alex’s steps slowed and Jamie glanced up at the same time. 

“We’ll talk later,” Jamie muttered, before hanging up. “Hey,” he greeted Alex.

Alex scowled curiously. “Got a hot date when we get back home?” he joked.

Biting his bottom lip, Jamie nodded, blood rising in his cheeks. “Ehhh…summat like that, yeah.”

Alex nodded. “Oh,” he replied, trying to seem casual, even as his own cheeks burned. “Right. Sorry, didn’t mean to…I’m joost…” he frowned and then scurried off to the washroom.

He took his time washing his hands, splashing water on his face, before he stared at himself in the mirror for a spell. _What the fuck did you expect, Alex? A declaration of love? What was it that Jamie had said in Capri? “This is no love story.”_ Oh yes. It was a bloody cliche, that’s what it was, the most fucked up emotional triangle he could think of: a drug lord, his lover, and the bodyguard between. 

Gripping the edge of the sink, he repeated over and over, _It’ll be better when we get back to LA. Everything will make sense_. Anxiety gnawed at him as he dried his hands on a towel, which he tossed into the little hamper for laundering. The urge to piss overtook him, and he turned and lifted the lid, unzipping his fly and relieving himself. He flushed, staring as the blue chemical water swirled round and round. His breathing became thin and he backed away with a small, pathetic sound, thumping into the closed door as he squeezed his eyes shut. _Christ now I’m having flashbacks when I look in the bloody toilet_. He quickly zipped his fly and washed his hands once more, and then staggered out of the bathroom, into the eerie darkness of the executive class.

The light over Jamie’s pod was out. Alex tried to slip by silently, but Jamie’s hand snuck out, fingers tangling with Alex’s as he passed. For a moment, they held on to one another, and Jamie gave Alex’s fingers a good squeeze of reassurance before they let go. Alex released his breath and moved back to his pod, and sat in his assigned solitude as the plane barrelled over the ocean below.

+

Kane’s entourage was standing in customs when it happened. He and Alex cleared easily enough, one after the other, and Cas followed a few booths over. Fab made it through, after a bit of back and forth with the US Customers Agent; Helders didn’t even bat an eye. Valensi and Cook, however, weren’t as lucky. On opposite ends of the customs department, their respective agents took one look at their passports and deemed them candidates for a random background check, that involved a full search and a series of questions in one of their interrogation rooms. There was no way to get out of it, either, and while Valensi growled and tried to catch Cas’ eye, Cook merely scowled and shrugged off the hand on his shoulder, meant to direct him towards interrogation. This was routine, he reasoned. He hoped Valensi could keep his mouth relatively shut in the moment - he had shit timing, and the wrong thing said at the wrong moment could result in a longer delay, and a more serious investigation.  
Uncertain as to whether Kane would wait for their asses, and not actually concerned with it in the long run, Jamie held his head high as he was escorted towards the back administration offices of customs, where he waited as his passport was processed.

“Cook, James Robert. Born July 8, 1985, Weyside, Liverpool, England.” The processing agent, a man named Young, waved Jamie’s passport and waited for an answer. “This is an American passport.”

“I’m an American citizen.”

“That accent leads me to believe otherwise.”

Jamie grimaced. “Me mother was American.”

“What’s her name?”

“Heather Cook, nee Russel.”

“Where was she born?”

“Boulder, Colorado.”

Young frowned and then glanced back to his screen, clicking over the keys rapidly. “This is not a random check, Mr. Cook. Your passport was flagged by the DEA - you know who the DEA are, correct?”

Jamie kept his face neutral. “I’m familiar with them, yes.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you are.” Young picked up the phone and dialled a number. After a brusque conversation, he hung up and looked at Jamie who stood unmoving on the other side of the desk. “You’re pretty relaxed for a man whose passport was flagged.”

“I’ve got nothin’ t’hide,” Jamie replied in a clipped tone.

“Right. We’re moving you to interrogation room B. The DEA agent is en route and should be here within the hour.” Young stood and waved to another agent, indicating that he required assistance moving Jamie. 

The second agent approached and pulled out his handcuffs, watching Jamie warily.

“Am I under arrest?” Jamie asked as the second Agent, this one wearing a name badge that read ‘Thompson’, reached for his hand.

“No,” Thompson replied. “But a flag means we take all precautions. Your luggage has been pulled from the trolley, Cook; anything in there you want to tell us about now? Drugs? Weapons?”

“SIG Sauer 2022, that I have a permit for.”

“A permit to carry off of American soil?”

Jamie swallowed tightly and shook his head.

“Ah, see, this is getting interesting.” Thompson secured Jamie’s wrists behind his back and turned him towards a hallway. “Let’s get you comfortable for when your company arrives.”

+

Jamie had been waiting for almost an hour when the door finally burst open, revealing a man similar in build to himself, with an almost jovial face; the features were tucked behind a dark, well groomed beard. His dark hair was pulled back into a neat bun at the nape of his neck, and he wore a plain charcoal suit over a black dress shirt, no tie. The the gold plate of a DEA badge was slung around his neck on a thin chain. In his hands he carried two paper cups of coffee, and a file was tucked under one arm. Young led the man into interrogation room B, and then waited as the DEA agent set his things down.

“Are the handcuffs necessary?” The agent asked, not looking up from where he skimmed the file and dumped powdered coffee whitener into one cup, leaving the other black.

Young croaked. “He was flagged-“

“No code was given that Mr. Cook is a felon,” the agent answered softly. He looked up to Young and held his hand out. “Keys, please.”

Young sighed and glared at Cook, who gave the customs agent a smug smile. The DEA agent wiggled his fingers, and Young dropped the cuff keys into the outstretched hand.

“You can leave now,” the DEA agent dismissed cordially.

When the door was shut, the DEA agent moved back to the table and leaned back against the wall, facing Jamie. When Jamie didn’t say anything, and merely stared back, the DEA agent sighed and moved to the table, pushing the black coffee towards him.

Jamie held up his confined hands and grinned. “You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you?”

“Why would I do a thing like that?”

Jamie leaned forward and cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe because we’ve been partners for the last six years, Mal?”

Agent Nick O’Malley stared at Cook for a moment, considering the reason. He snorted and shook his head, setting the key down just beyond Jamie’s immediate reach. “That why you took off for Italy without clearance? Cuz we’re such close partners?”

“I didn’t have much time to ferret you out without getting caught,” Jamie growled, fingers finally snaring the cuff key. He set about unlocking the bracelets and let them clatter to the table before picking up his coffee. He took a sip and grimaced, scowling at Nick. “Fookin’ hell, Mal, you know I take two sugars.”

“I do,” O’Malley smirked. “I just don’t give a fuck at this moment. You’ll excuse me if my priorities have shifted from how you take your coffee to the fact that both Joshua Homme _and_ Jesse Hughes are dead. From what the boys down in Virginia can determine, you’re responsible for the latter.”

“He was a crooked cop. He almost took Kane out-”

“He was a _lead_ , Jamie,” O’Malley groused. “A witness, and a good fucking one at that. He and Homme would have helped us break this case wide open.”

“Mal, we both know those two would never have talked, or they’d demand a plea bargain.” Jamie took another sip of coffee despite the bitterness. After he swallowed, he looked to O’Malley again. “We don’t need either of them.”

“Oh? And what makes you think that, Agent Cook?”

“Cuz I’m close, Mal, really close. I haven’t ever been able to get to Clarke, to get inside that mansion for the last three years, but Kane’s bollocked the entire show in a manner of weeks to our advantage. He’s due at Clarke’s place the day after tomorrow for a meeting.”

“What makes you think he’s going to take you? From the intel you’ve managed to get back to me, you’ve indicated that you and Kane don’t get along. The Scouser is more inclined to take Cas with him, than you, and leave you to babysit Turner.” O’Malley levelled his stare at Jamie. “Or maybe you’re perfectly fine with that.”

Jamie’s eyes darkened. “I told you: he’s not a problem.”

Dropping his knuckles to the table, O’Malley leaned his weight on them and stared Jamie down. Six years partnered with the man had given him relatively good insight into the blond; he could read Jamie like a book sometimes, and now was no exception. He narrowed his clear, green gaze, and then slowly arched a dark eyebrow. “Fuck, Jamie,” O’Malley groaned, “tell me you didn’t.”

“What,” Jamie asked flatly.

“You fucked him, didn’t you?”

“I _didn’t_ ,” Jamie seethed.

“But you’d like to,” O’Malley snapped.

Jamie took a breath to answer, but instead he held it, and tore his gaze from O’Malley’s. His jaw tightened.

O’Malley stood and circled the desk, dragging his file with him, shuffling to the back of the thick stack of papers. He pulled a set of three photos and laid them out one at a time as he spoke.

“I know you’re not that stupid.”

Jamie’s eyes sailed to O’Malley, and then he glanced down at the first picture. It was of Katie Downes, sweet little Katie, battered and bruised by Barât’s hand, sometime during the beginning of Jamie’s undercover career three years ago.

“I know that you know better than to get mixed up in something like this again.”

The second picture was another one of Katie, smiling as she sat next to Jamie, her bruises faded, but still present. The way she was looking at Jamie in that picture made Jamie's heart ache miserably. His throat tightened.

“I don’t want to put another civilian in the ground, Cook. So tell me that whatever you were feeling, you’re over it now.”

He set the third picture down, this one from the autopsy, Katie cold and unmoving, black and white and utterly dead. A shuddering breath left Jamie’s lungs as he stared, his vision blurring with tears.

“I am,” Jamie whispered harshly.

“Don’t fuck with me, Cook, I’ve seen that look in your eye. You can’t save Turner, all right? And I can’t watch you go through that agony again. I don’t think you can handle it.”

Jamie swallowed thickly and flicked his hair from his eyes, and looked up at O’Malley. “It’s under control.”

“I hope so,” O’Malley said as he watched Jamie closely. When Jamie didn’t say anything else, O’Malley sighed, and moved from his perch on the edge of the table. “Right, then.” He turned back to his file, and pulled out his digital recorder from inside of his jacket pocket. “Let’s go over what we have so far.”


	12. Chapter 12

“I need your help.”

I looked up from the book I was reading to see Alex leaning against the frame of the patio doors. The California breeze ruffled his ungelled hair; dark, gold-frame sunglasses took up half of his face, and it looked like he’d slept in his t shirt and jeans.

“With what?” I asked, turning a corner on the page and setting my book aside.

Alex sniffed and glanced about the patio, and then slid the screen door open, stepping into the pool house that was doubling as my room at Kane’s mansion. Closing the door behind him, he rubbed his palms over the worn denim on his thighs, and then pulled his sunglasses off and folded the arm into the collar of his shirt

“Yeah, um...I’m headin’ to Gallery Row to...erm...pick some things up. Was wonderin’ if...you’d wanna come wiv? Keep me outta trouble?” He sniffed again and rubbed at his nose, and then began to wander around the pool house as he chatted. “I mean, we’re a long way from Italy, not like there’s any fookin’ crocodiles or...fookin’...shady characters...unless you’re countin’ Mi…” Alex trailed off as he tilted his head and read the titles on the stack of books near my bed. “You read all of these?”

I stood and nodded, tossing my book aside before giving Alex a closer look. “Are you high?”

Alex grinned and glanced back at me from where he was still bent over reading book titles. He held up his hand, thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. “Liul bit,” he replied. Standing straight, he let out a sigh, and raked his hands over his hair. “So? You comin’?”

“Where’s Mr. Kane?”

Alex snorted, rolling his eyes. “ _Miles_ ,” he drawled, “had a ‘very fookin’ important’ breakfast meetin’ wiv Clarke. Left about an hour ago.”

“An’ he didn’t take you?”

“Why the fuck would he take me?”

“I...I mean, you’ve met Clarke, yeah? Had a meeting with him while Miles was recovering? I’m just getting the feeling that lately Miles wants you at his side at all times.”

Alex shook his head. “Yeah, well...that’s the thing about Miles, innit? Always changing the rules last minute.”

“Shit,” I muttered. Had I missed my chance to get into Clarke’s home? I looked at Alex. “Who’s with him?”

“I dunno, Cas? Took Helders wiv ‘im, I know that...I mean, otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

It was my turn to snort. “So, I’m second choice?”

Alex chewed his lip with a shrug. “Look, you can come, or you can stay here; I don’t really care.”

The waver in his voice told me otherwise. “Did you and Miles fight this morning?”

“Been fightin’ since we landed,” Alex spat.

I cocked my head. “Things not going according to plan?” When Alex fixed me with a cold, hard stare, I mentally winced at the condescending tone of my voice.

“You know what, forget it, I’ll go on me own-”

“Kane will have me skinned if I let you go anywhere alone. And he won’t exactly be easy on you, either, you know.” I lifted my leather jacket from the back of the chair where it was draped. “Let’s go.”

Alex frowned, but he nodded anyway and turned, leading me from the poolhouse to the garage.

+

The drive downtown seemed to mellow Alex out a little bit. Mostly, he sat silently with the windows open, breeze ruffling his hair, his hand out the window and his fingers wiggling in the sunlight. By the time we got to Raw Materials he was quiet and almost reflective, slinking down the aisles and brushing his fingertips over canvas frames and sketch books, leading me down rows and rows of brushes and paints, his dark eyes scanning and cataloguing. I had a feeling I knew exactly what he was looking for, but I wasn’t about to question him on it. Alex had that look on his face, the one he’d had in Palermo, and the memory of it, and the subsequent events that took place moments later in the alley came rushing at me. I took a step back and cleared my throat.

“If you’re bored, wait in th’car,” Alex murmured, leaning to inspect tubes of cerulean blue and dioxazine purple.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I muttered. I reached out and lifted a tube of burnt umber and turned it over in my hands, something to do. I didn’t fail to notice that I’d picked up a color that matched Alex’s eyes in the Mediterranean sun.

His answering sigh was exasperated. “Right.”

My jaw tighened. “I’m just-” I paused, Mal’s words from three days ago echoing in my head: _Just do your fookin’ job, Cook, and avoid the mess_. “Just doin’ me job,” I explained lamely, setting the tube of paint back in its place.

Alex turned to look at me from over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised skeptically. “That what you were doin’ in Sicily?” he murmured, dropping his gaze to my mouth. “Your job?”

“Alex, you an’ I both know that was-”

“Don’t say it,” Alex snapped, standing straight and gathering half a dozen tubes of paint. “Joost...fookin’ hold these.” He dumped the tubes into my hands and then grabbed another half dozen and then sauntered to the next aisle.

I hastily stepped after him. “Don’t say what?” I asked sharply as I caught up with him. “That it shouldn’t have happened? That it was against my better judgement?”

Alex squared his jaw and narrowed his gaze as he looked up at me. “You kissed me back,” he breathed.

“An’ I stopped it.” It was a weak counter measure, but Alex wasn’t pulling any punches. I hardly had time to think of a defense. _You shouldn’t have to defend yourself_.

Alex peered a bit closer, and then the corner of his mouth tilted up. “You’re a terrible liar, Cookie.”

“Don’t call me that,” I sighed. Still, I felt my mouth quirk and I knew that I’d lost my resolve against him once more.

He regarded me for another moment and then, with his one arm clutching tubes of paint, he began plucking brushes from their stands, all sorts, all shapes.

“What are you gonna do with all of this?” I asked as Alex picked up another tool that looked like a small spatula.

“I’m bakin’ a fookin’ cake,” he replied. “C’mon, I need a basket, and to look at canvases.”

+

It seemed impossible for someone to spend over three grand on art supplies, but that was exactly what Alex proceeded to do. The larger canvases - anything that couldn’t fit in the back the car - would be delivered to the house the following day. Alex seemed satisfied, and arranged to pick up his smaller purchases that the employee had bagged, when we were ready to leave the district.

“Where else do we need to go?” I asked as I followed him out into the LA heat.

“Joost...I dunno, I wanna walk for a bit. Maybe get some lunch.” Alex lit a cigarette and continued, “I’m fookin’ starvin’.”

“Yeah, I hear cocaine will do that,” I muttered, daring to glance at him.

He’d already shoved his sunglasses back onto his face but his lip curled into a sneer. “You ain’t me mum,” he snapped.

I shrugged. “You’re right, I’m not.”

“So, why do you care?” He pressed.

We began walking up the block.

“I don’t, really,” I lied.

“James,” Alex sighed. “Remember when I said you were shit at lying?”

“Why do you do it? The coke?”

“Gotta put up with your shit somehow, don’t I?” Alex laughed. “It’s out me system now, aye? So what if it makes me hungry.” He paused and slid a hand down over his belly, drumming his fingers there. “Ain’t like m’gettin’ fat.”

He was right about that. Alex was lean in all the right places, tough and wiry muscle sculpted to his arms and thighs. “No, I guess not. Where do you wanna go?”

“Dunno,” Alex breathed, glancing around. “Haven’t been down here in a while, really...few things have changed.” He paused and contemplated a building on the opposite corner. “That’s new,” he pointed out.

I looked in the direction indicated and saw a small, square box with the name, ‘Westwood Music’ painted on the glass windows that lined the street-facing side. 

“C’mon.” Alex was already crossing the street.

“Alex?” I called, jogging after him.

I’ve no doubt he heard me, but he ignored me all the same, and instead pitched aside his half-smoked cigarette, and pulled the door to the shop open and stepped inside. When I didn’t follow him right away, Alex looked back at me.

“Thought you were supposed to be doin’ your job?” he asked with a smile.

“I-”

“I’m goin’ in here. So, do your job, and keep me company.”

“My job isn’t keeping you company, it’s-”

“Watching my ass?” Alex quipped, tilting his sunglasses down his nose. He cocked his jaw, half smiling, and then turned back into the store.

Like I wasn’t going to follow.

+

Miles lit his third cigarette since he’d been shown a seat upon arrival at Clarke’s mansion. The old man was making him wait and stew in his own juices no doubt, and Miles’ knee bounced in agitation before he popped up from the settee and began pacing back and forth.

“The fuck is taking that old bastard so long,” Miles groused.

Helders watched from where he stood near the doorway, and Casablancas glanced up from the book he was flipping through, some ancient tome he’d pulled from the shelves in Clarke’s parlor.

“He _is_ kind of in charge,” Casablancas pointed out. “I suppose he can make you wait for however long he wants.”

“Probably still tryna plan all the ways he’s gonna scold me for this,” Miles huffed before he took another drag.

No sooner were the words out of his mouth did Clarke’s assistant, Mr. Cave, appear. The rather gothic looking individual arched a thick, dark brow, at the three of them. “Mr. Clarke will see you now.”

“Fookin’ _finally_ ,” Miles muttered, pausing to stub his cigarette out in an ashtray on the side table. He tugged at his lapels, adjusted his tie, and then buttoned his jacket.

Casablancas rose to follow, and Helders pushed off the wall. The pair followed Miles, who loped after Mr. Cave’s long gait which led them up the main stairs, past rather dubious paintings that ranged from Baroque to the late pop phenomenon, and along a mezzanine to the double doors at the end of the hall. Here, Mr. Cave held up his narrow-palmed hand, silently asking them to wait, and then knocked on the door before slipping inside. Miles glanced to his right, where Casablancas stood, and then glanced back at Helders, who gave a small shrug. A few more seconds and the double doors were pulled open, and Mr. Cave stepped aside with a sweeping gesture.

The only other time Miles had been in Clarke’s office was about four years ago when The Bowery was still a drop bar, and Homme was in charge of his business. Not much had changed since then: the walls were still stark white, as were the couches in the immediate foreground of the long room. The desk where Clarke was sat was different, and maybe he’d gotten a new rug. The feeling in Miles’ chest, however, was the same then as it had been before: a strange stirring and tightness, brought on by nerves and the unknown. Only this time, the unknown hung over Miles’ head; instead of bringing excited energy, Miles was loathing what he knew was going to be a dressing down. He likened it to being in the principal’s office, only with potential for a more serious outcome.

“Have a seat,” Clarke called, waving from behind his desk. “Casablancas, Helders, hang back there on the settee. Can I have Mr. Cave bring you anything?”

Both men shook their heads, and while Casablancas happily settled into the overstuffed white settee, Helders paused, and looked to Miles for the okay. Miles subtly nodded, and then paced up the room to Clarke’s desk.

“Sit down,” Clarke murmured once more, motioning to Mr. Cave. “Tea, thank you Nick. Mr. Kane, are you sure you don’t want anything?”

Miles declined with a swift shake of his head. “If it’s all the same, sir, I’d rather just...get down to business.”

Clarke paused and waved Mr. Cave to task before he focused on Miles, watching him from behind the lavender rose tint of his glasses. “Always have been the ambitious type, haven’t you, Mr. Kane? You see something and you don’t hesitate to take it.”

A cocky grin worked its way onto Miles’ face. “I’m a man of action,” he replied smugly.

Clarke grunted. “Tell me something, Mr. Kane, do you ever stop to think of the consequences of said actions?”

Miles felt his resolve faltering, but he wouldn’t let it crack is facade. Tightening his jaw, he tented his fingers under his chin for a moment and held Clarke’s gaze. “I’ll admit that perhaps I was...rather hasty but-”

“‘Hasty’ doesn’t even begin to cover it, Mr. Kane.” Clarke’s tone was clipped. “You realize that in a span of one evening you put my entire business on the line?”

Miles opened his mouth to counter, but Clarke’s look made him rethink his course of action.

“Since you disposed of Homme so frivolously I’ve had to work most of my men on the West Coast to pick up the slack - _you_ would have been included had you not fucked off to Italy for two weeks without notice. Imagine my agitation at almost losing six million dollars, four contracts, and three global relationships because you decided to go rogue. I’m not one to be made a fool of, Mr. Kane.”

Miles dropped his hands and leaned forward. “Neither,” he growled, “am I.”

Clarke paused and sat back in his chair. “Care to elaborate?”

Rolling his shoulder, Miles pressed his mouth into a hard line before he replied with an edge in his voice, “I have it on very good authority that Homme not only hired someone to take me out in Chicago, but that he attempted it again in New York.”

For a moment, Clarke regarded Miles with subtle curiosity. Then, he leaned forward on his elbows and stared hard at the man before him. “You think I’m unaware of this?”

Miles felt the colour drain from his face. “Whu...what?”

“You think that I don’t know what’s going on every second when it comes to my business? If I don’t know, I make it a point to find out, Mr. Kane.”

“How-”

“It’s not a matter of how, or who, or when, lad. It’s a question of trust, and authority. You don’t think that I had plans to deal with Homme myself?”

Miles sputtered as his guts turned cold. “If you knew - he came at me _again_ , Sir, he had Hughes come at me again! I had my suspicions, but Hughes confirmed it there on the runway in New York. I didn’t have time to get clearance. I saw my chance, and I took it.”

“You 'took it' on foreign soil, Kane!” Clarke snapped. “You realize that I have no sway with Interpol? Scotland Yard? The goddamn Naples Police Department? What the hell did you think you were accomplishing, other than trying to be one of the big dogs? Hmm?”

“Are you pissed off, Sir?”

Clarke blinked at Miles’ question. “What kind of a statement is that?”

“You're pissed off because I took control of the situation - I did, Sir,” Miles insisted, raising his voice over any contradiction spouting from Clarke’s mouth. “I took control and I handled it and nothing is going to come back. Joshua Homme is in the belly of a crocodile some ten thousand kilometers away, I teamed with Barat to ensure your future business with him. I showed a room full of the biggest dogs in the pound that Miles fucking Kane is a pitbull.”

Clarke’s expression hardened. “And yet you still need to be brought to heel.”

“You put him in my house and appointed him head of security!” Miles roared, gripping the arms of his chair.

From his corner, Mr. Cave moved forward, ready to restrain Miles if needed, but Clarke merely waved him aside and raised an eyebrow at Miles.

“He was fucking laughing at me from day one, Clarke, don’t try to tell me that wouldn’t piss you off. So he gets sent to Italy, I get a bunch of Barat’s throwaways, and I still manage to take him down. I mean, why the fuck do you think I went to Chicago in the first place?” Miles sat back, a triumphant expression on his face. “I was doing you a favour, Sir. Joshua Homme was nothing but a two-bit hood who liked to bully people. He had no style. He had no class. You want someone competent handling your affairs, someone who, like you said, takes initiative and has ambition. I’m far from _rogue_. I’m here facing the music, aren’t I?” Miles paused and looked down at his hands where they were clasped tightly in his lap as he gathered his thoughts. When he glanced back to Clarke he noticed the silence of the older man, but that his interest was at least piqued. Miles plunged forward. “Look,” he began once more, more reserved this time, “I understand your concern. But you have to see the bigger picture, Clarke - I did more work in two weeks than Homme did in six months. I can handle his accounts, and mine.”

The door to the office opened and Miles paused, turning in his seat to watch Mr. Cave approach once more, a tray with a steaming pot of tea and a cup and saucer balanced on one hand. He set these down, poured a cup for Clarke, and then leaned down and muttered something in Clarke’s ear. Clarke nodded, and Mr. Cave moved towards the door once more. Meanwhile, Clarke busied himself pouring tea, and adding a slice of lemon to the cup. Plucking a delicate spoon from the saucer he swirled it around the cup for a moment while his mouth pressed into a grim line. When the stirring subsided and the spoon was set aside, Clarke sipped for a moment, and then set his cup down.

“I _do_ admire your initiative, Mr. Kane, though your...methods leave some finesse to be desired for. Creative, yes, artistically vicious, absolutely. But forethought is important; the good of the organization is key, you realize.” Miles took another breath, but Clarke put up his hand. “Let me finish.” He waited until Miles had sat back with a short nod. “I’ll give you this chance to prove yourself, Mr. Kane. We’ll call it ‘probation’. You have to realize I can’t just hand things over to you and call it a day. So I’m going to bring in someone else to help out.”

Miles felt his blood begin to simmer. “I don’t need a fucking _babysitter_ , Sir.”

“I don’t think you do, either, but this is a huge undertaking and I don’t want anything to be overlooked, whether by hasty decision making, or failure to notice details.” He paused and leaned back, angling his gaze to Mr. Cave. “Won’t you bring our guest in, Nick?” At the sound of Miles’ sputtering, Clarke turned back to him. “Relax, Mr. Kane; I’m sure you’ll find my choice a pleasing one.” The door to the office opened once more, and Clarke looked to see Mr. Cave entering with another person. “Ah, Mr. Michael, welcome back. Mr. Kane, I understand you know Zack here quite well?”

Miles swiveled in his chair to watch Mr. Cave escort Zack Michael into the office. With his hair neatly pulled back and his dark jeans and crisp, linen blazer combo, he was almost passable as something other than west coast hippie trash. Gritting his teeth, Miles slouched in his chair and turned back to Clarke.

“Are you for real?” Miles muttered, his eyebrow arching sharply.

Clarke smiled flatly. “Mr. Kane, Mr. Michael was the only one available to handle the utter shit show you created when you took Homme out.” He paused and looked to Zack. “Zack, my lad, have a seat. Tea?”

“Ah, no, thank you, Sir.” Zack sank into the seat next to Miles and gave him half a smile. “Hey, Miles, I just want to say-”

“How long is this going to last?” Miles snapped back, cutting Zack off and looking to Clarke.

Clarke’s dark, wild brows knitted together as he scowled at Miles. “It will last however long I deem it necessary; until you learn that there is an order and a style to this organization. We don’t rush in guns blazing. There are always precautions in place. There is a meeting tonight at a new restaurant dowtown. I expect the two of you to be present, and to report back here. I’ve given the details to Zack; I’m certain the two of you can work together to ensure a swift, secure deal.”

Growling under his breath, Miles nodded stiffly and then looked to Zack, who was glancing between Miles and Clarke. “Right, then,” Miles muttered. “You think Zackery here is gonna help me keep this ship running smoothly, West Coast party boy that he is?” Miles shook his head again. “No offence, Zack, but you ain’t exactly the poster boy of gettin’ shit done.”

Zack’s smile fell a fraction, but it twisted wryly in the last second. He opened his mouth to retort, but Clarke beat him to it. “He has a way with clients that make them feel at ease. I figure it will help soften this newly acquired abrasive nature. You used to be charming, really quite suave, Mr. Kane. What went wrong?”

Miles stood then, noticing how Mr. Cave moved forward as if ready to defend Clarke if necessary. The Scouser scoffed at this, and fastened the button on his suit jacket. “I guess one of those bullets just tore through me sunny disposition,” Miles deadpanned. “An’ it never healed quite right. If we’re finished, Sir, I should be getting back to my home and meeting with the rest of my team, and letting them know there’s another player to take into account.”

Clarke dismissed him with a wave of his hand and watched as he moved to the door, pausing only to flash a glare in the direction of Casablancas and Helders. The two men bounced from the couch, and Casablanca’s eyes swiftly met Clarke’s for a moment before he moved to follow Miles.

“Oh, and Mr. Kane,” Clarke called out, halting the small party at the door. “One more thing.”

Miles stifled a sigh and turned back to Clarke. “Sir?”

“The next time you come here, bring that young man with you - Alexander? I enjoy his candor. After our initial meeting, I’m curious to see how he is faring these days.”

Tightening a fist at his side, Miles nodded again. “Of course, Sir,” he gritted out, flashing a smile that was anything but accommodating.

Clarke grinned smoothly. “Until next time, then, Mr. Kane.”

+

“Who the fuck does that old bastard thing he is?” Miles roared once Helders had pulled the car from the main drive in Clarke’s compound. “Teaming me up with Zack Michael? Christ, if he wants to get something done, this isn’t the way to do it!” His fist pounded the dash in emphasis and then glared out the window as they moved into traffic. Lighting a cigarette, he took few drags, cracked the window, and then looked to Helders. “This absurd, isn’t it? Tell me it’s absurd, Helders, tell me Clarke is fookin’ crazy an’ that I’m not the one losing it.”

Helders frowned, working the vehicle into another lane, glancing in the rearview where Zack followed close behind in his Jeep with Cas sitting shotgun. “Zack’s got a good head on his shoulders,” Helders ventured carefully. “I mean, he is in charge of the PNW.”

Miles snorted. “That’s like...being a small-time dope dealer to a bunch of frat boys.”

“He _does_ have a way of easing the tension.”

“Cuz he’s always fookin’ high,” Miles snapped. He looked over to Helders and narrowed his eyes. “You got summat you wanna tell me? Think Michael is a better pick than me?”

“I didn’t think we were choosing sides.”

Taking another drag of his cigarette, Miles stared at Helders for another moment. The ex boxer was a hard read; it seemed that Alex was the only one that could ever really get through to him these days. Shit, _Alex_. The thought of having Zack in their company more frequently made Miles’ stomach quiver unpleasantly. The last time Zack and Alex had spent time together, they’d gone on an all-night bender and Alex had come back with that stupid haircut. They’d always been close but something about that night had made Miles look a little closer at the pair. Hell, Clarke hadn’t sent him to Canada, Miles had sent him packing, warning him to make up some story lest Alex coming pleading Zack’s case. Now he was being force-fed the long-haired party boy as part of some sort of probationary period. It was bullshit, and it made Miles seethe.

“So, this meeting tonight,” Helders cut into Miles’ thought process. “Who and where?”

“Didn’t really have time to ask on the way down the stairs,” Miles growled. He pushed the rest of his cigarette out of the open window and sighed. “I need a fuckin’ drink. Coupla lines. Christ, we’ll get Zack back to the house and it’ll turn into party central anyway.” Heaving a groan, he pulled his fingers over his hair and looked out the window. “All I want is this city, Helders. This county. The whole fucking state. I want what Homme had.”

“Homme was a bastard,” Helders muttered.

“But he had it, didn’t he? For a moment, he had it, had control. See, Helders, what he lacked was loyalty. Hughes sold him out - hell, Shuman probably would have done the same thing if properly motivated. And don’t get me started on Barat.”

“I thought you trusted Barat.”

“Hardly,” Miles replied. He shook his head and raked another hand over his short hair. “Honestly, Helders, the only ones I trust right now are you, and Alex.”

“Not even Cook?”

“I don’t know if I can trust him - I know next to nothing about him.”

“What’s there to know? He worked for Barat, shit went sideways, and now he works for you. Look, if you ask me, Mr. Kane, he’s a lot more trustworthy than the other three. Cas was attached to Barat’s hip, and even Valensi and Fab were taking orders from him. You’re paying them to take a cue from Black Cat Barat.”

There was a hint of acid in Helders’ voice and Kane picked up on it right away. “You don’t trust them either - Cas, Fab, Valensi...do you trust Cook?”

Helders tilted his head in contemplation. “Alex seems to trust him.”

“Hmmm.” Miles glanced back out the window. “Should I be concerned about that?”

“That Alex feels safe? I don’t even think that’s a question you need to ask yourself, Sir.”

“He’s safest with me,” Miles declared, slipping his sunglasses on.

He didn’t see the frown that marred Helders’ face as he continued to steer them back towards Venice.

“Then why did you leave him at home? I mean, if he’s safest with you, why not bring him-”

“I don’t need Alex present when I’m getting a proper dressing-down from Clark. What the fuck did he mean, anyway, ‘I enjoy his candor’?” He turned his attention to Helders once more. “This whole bloody operation is fallin’ apart at the seams, swear to Christ, Helders. Clarke has to be aware of that.”

Helders didn’t say a word.

“An’ if he’s not,” Miles continued, leaning back into his seat, “Then I’ll make it a point to bring it to the table next time we meet.”

+

First came a hesitant arc of Prussian Blue. His hand was shaking as he touched the brush to the canvas and he paused, taking a breath and glancing sidelong to where Jamie hovered near the window, trying not to look like he was watching too closely.

“D’ya want me to go?” Jamie asked softly, already moving towards the door.

“No,” Alex mumbled, shaking his head and turning his gaze back to the canvas. He made another pass with his brush, and then another, before his attention wavered once more, this time by a variety of intrusive thoughts. Painting his fear was somehow more difficult here in the house than it had been in Italy. Perhaps that was the reason - that he was in the house where it had happened. He cast another wary glance towards the window.

“I’m gonna go,” Jamie decided, reaching for the door knob.

Alex’s breath caught in his throat, making a sound so small he figured Jamie wouldn’t hear.

“Alex?”

“Please stay,” Alex whispered, his eyes closing briefly. “I feel...I dunno, safer, I suppose, with you here.”

“You are aware of the irony of that statement, aren’t you?”

Alex had to smile, and he opened his eyes as he swiped his brush through the Prussian Blue once more. “M’serious.”

Jamie checked his watch. “I would expect Kane home soon,” he reasoned.

Alex shrugged. “He hasn’t come in here since we got home. I mean,” he shrugged again, making a few more passes, his grip on the brush easing as he talked to Jamie, “most nights I’m down the hall in our room. This is _my_ room, yeah? Me own lit’l hideaway of sorts.”

“We’ve only been back for three days,” Jamie pointed out, hovering at the edge of Alex’s peripheral vision.

“Yeah, you reminded me of that earlier,” Alex frowned, glancing down to his palette covered in dollops of varying shades of blue. “And, as you so eloquently pointed out, nothing has changed. He’s so occupied with this meetin’ wiv Clarke that I doubt he’ll even notice if I’m not in bed wiv him.”

“Now, that I find hard to believe,” Jamie smoothly replied.

Alex smiled again, easier than the first time. “Shut it.” He set his pallette down and reached for his cigarettes, lighting one and then waving towards the bed. “C’mon, sit down.”

“Gonna paint me portrait?”

Smoke curled from Alex’s nose as he snorted, and he picked up his palette once more. “Quiet.” Loading his brush with more colour, he approached the canvas and began delivering more streaks of blue.

Jamie sat and watched silently, not unlike how he had in the market in Palermo. Soon enough, Alex’s features relaxed, his dark eyes going slightly unfocused, and his wrist flexing and bending gracefully. He arced blues upon blues, filling the outer edges of a canvas that was three feet by three feet with swathes of indigo and navy blue, slashes of greens to give it a strange and eerie depth like…

Like looking up from the bottom of a pool.

On the right edge the blue didn’t quite meet all the way, and Alex avoided the blank space as he worked another layer of dark blues. But those edges crept closer, the pigment grew darker until it was black, a shadow, and it began to take shape.

+

_“Tell me about Homme.”_

_Jamie sighed and looked to Mal. They’d been in the holding room at customs for half an hour now, grinding through as much information as possible. The events at Teterboro were put on record as best they could from Jamie’s perspective, noting that it was in fact Jamie that had killed Hughes. This development had made Mal twitch, and he grumbled as he made a few notes and looked across the table to Jamie._

_“You realize that Director Banks will shit bricks when he found out it was you that shot Hughes. Like I said, he was a valuable source.”_

_“He was dead anyway, Mal.”_

_O’Malley nodded and sifted through the stack of papers he’d laid out on the table and then found what he was looking for. “Right...yeah, took about four bullets in total...all from a DEA issued SIG.”_

_“Would have looked strange had I **not** protected Kane out there on the tarmac.”_

_“Fine,” O’Malley sighed. “Back to Homme.”_

_“Look,” Jamie began, “Homme had a rap sheet a mile long to begin with. He made the call to have Kane taken out, and he failed.”_

_“So where is he now?”_

_Jamie shrugged. “Dead.”_

_“Don’t be a dick, Cook. I know you were there. I have it on good authority that Homme hasn’t checked in with his housekeeper back in LA, and Shuman has suddenly disappeared, too.”_

_Sitting forward, Jamie thought about it for a moment. “He got too cocky, I suppose. Miles wasn’t gunnin’ for him when we boarded that first flight in LA, but by the time we were over the Atlantic, he was seething.”_

_“So, Kane arranged to have him killed?”_

_Again, Jamie paused, and he thought about the afternoon at Marco’s compound, and later that evening when they’d returned, and Alex had appeared more beaten and bloodied than when Miles had left him. There had been something in his eyes then, a manic need to see Homme die. Of course Miles was angry but Alex was almost desperate._

_“Cook?”_

_“Yeah,” he nodded, glancing at O’Malley. “Yeah, for all intents and purposes. It was premeditated.”_

_“What aren’t you telling me?”_

_Jamie scowled at Nick’s files where they sat on the table. “I don’t know,” he answered slowly._

There was a clatter next to the canvas and Jamie refocused and watched as Alex dropped his brushes into a cup of water. The dark-eyed man took a few paces back, both hands raking his hair back, and he scowled at the canvas. Slowly rising from the bed, Jamie stepped forward until he could see what Alex had created. The shadow Alex had added was murky at best, no real form, just a smudge of darkness overhanging the central source of light in the painting.

Jamie glanced from the canvas to Alex, and back to the canvas. It was more or less the same swirling blues that he’d painted on the wall in Palermo, but the shadow was a new addition. Looking to Alex once more Jamie cautiously approached - Alex was a million miles away, dark eyes heavy as they gazed through the painting.

With a soft, even tone, Jame asked, “What happened here?”

Alex’s hands moved from his hair down the back of his neck until his arms were wrapped around his body. “M’not s’possed to say,” he mumbled in a faraway voice.

“But you should,” Jamie pressed. “What happened, Alex? Something happened in the pool here, didn’t it?”

Slowly, Alex shook his head, his lashes fluttering. “Not in the pool,” he replied. “On the stone. On the wood. Bled everywhere while I watched that boy be torn apart.” His voice was fragile, on the verge of cracking, and his words slipped together so that Jamie wasn’t sure what to make of them.

“What boy, Alex?”

Alex blinked again, his hand unwinding from where it clutched his elbow, and he reached for the painting, pressing his fingertips into the still-drying thick layers of blue. Rubbing the substance on them, he looked down, watching the colour sink in. “Cleaned it up. All of it. Washed it away, set it aside. It don’t matter now. It’s done, it’s over.”

Through Alex’s haunting answers, Jamie had moved closer and closer until he could see the faint shimmer of unshed tears in Alex’s eyes, and he watched as they gathered on thick, dark lashes, and rolled easily down sharp cheekbones. 

“What boy?” Jamie asked again, reaching out to lay his fingertips on Alex’s wrist. 

Alex hissed and pulled away, shaking his head. “Don’t,” he said.

Jamie’s stomach turned at Alex’s tone: he was begging.

“Alex,” Jamie said, his voice quiet but firm. “Are you...that boy?”

The smaller man bit at his lips and shook his head as a soft wail caught in his throat. “No,” he croaked insistently. “No, m’not. Not now.”

“But you were,” Jamie prompted. “Tell me what happened.”

“There was...the floor was wet. The tile. I thought it was…” Alex broke off and shivered, wrapping his arms around his narrow frame to hug himself tightly. “I thought it were water,” he rasped. “He made me bleed.”

Though the confession was jagged, it still struck home, and Jamie’s stomach dropped, and twisted until he felt sick. “Who,” Jamie asked, his voice gone hard and edged. “Who made you bleed, Alex? Was it Kane?”

With a whimper, Alex shook his head, and then he squeezed his eyes shut, and the tears spilled as he let out a gasp. The scar on his cheekbone was illuminated, and suddenly Alex seemed to come back from wherever he’d been, sniffing and rolling his shoulder, reaching to rub at the wetness on his face.

“Forgot about this part,” he frowned, still glancing at his fingers. “The indulgence.” He raised his head to look at the painting once more. “S’not quite right,” he said to himself. Then he noticed Jamie at less than an arm’s length, and he turned, his eyes wide and almost gone black.

“Alex,” Jamie cautiously ventured. “Tell me what happened.”

It seemed that it was right on the tip of Alex’s tongue to reply, a simple response, and he gave a look that seemed to pin that responsibility on Jamie: _do I really have to spell it out?_ But, then he sputtered, and scowled, and moved to the low table where he’d spread his art supplies, and left his cigarettes. “The fuck you on about, then?” he growled, reaching for his smokes and lighting one.

“You were painting and suddenly you were in a moment that you’ve buried very deeply. You were somewhere else.”

“Yeah, like I ain’t heard that before. Always have been a bit...dreamy, or summat. Especially in front of the canvas.”

Jamie frowned and closed the distance between them, his hand wrapping Alex’s bicep. Startled, Alex looked up, his cigarette clamped in the corner of his mouth. “You can’t call… what just happened...some sort of surrealistic bullshit brought on by the smell of paint and canvas. You were remembering somethin’, Alex. Something that happened to you in this house. In that pool.” Between he and O'Malley, Jamie had had always been the caretaker; O'Malley was the hardass. He kept his tone neutral, his expression open, and he looked at Alex. “You’re not alone in this, even if you think you are-”

With a growl, Alex shook Jamie off, and his eyes flashed dangerously. “The _fuck_ do you know about it, anyway?” He turned, and began shoving things aside on his table in frantic search for something. When he didn’t find it, he moved to his dresser and yanked the top drawer open, digging inside.

Jamie watched as Alex set a mirror down on the low dresser, small vial clutched in his other hand. He left his cigarette to burn in a nearby ashtray as he prepped. A few moments later and Alex was bent over, snorting three quick rips before he stood with a flourish and turned, combing his hair back through his hands as his eyelids fluttered. “There now,” he muttered, a crooked smile spreading on his face. “That’s better.”

“That’s your answer now? Snort it away instead of deal with it? It won’t go away that easily; whatever you tried before hasn’t worked because it’s still haunting you.”

Opening his eyes, Alex glared at Jamie, and then skidded across the carpet until he was toe-to-toe with the blond. Jamie didn’t move, and Alex tipped his chin up, grimace in place and eyes wild. “Beats strumming a guitar in a desperate attempt to bury the past.” Jamie narrowed his eyes and put a hand on Alex’s chest to shove him aside, but Alex clutched at those fingers and held him there as he stepped closer. “Or maybe you’re trying to escape via my mouth,” he murmured, licking his lips. “Hmm?”

Jamie took a breath, a sharp retort like acid on his tongue, burning to be delivered. The shrill chirp of his cell phone pierced the murky silence of their standoff, but Jamie made no move to answer it as he attempted to search Alex’s widening pupils. 

He’d been close, he realized, to peeling back another layer. Alex had been ready, subconsciously perhaps, and when he’d detected the threat of Jamie’s investigation he’d built his defenses accordingly. There was no way Jamie was getting anything out of Alex now, not with the coke addling his brain.

“You should get that,” Alex smirked, backing away and letting go of Jamie’s hand. “Might be _Mr. Kane_ calling to give you more orders.” His chuckle was grating.

Without taking his eyes from Alex, Jamie reached into his pocket and thumbed the ‘ignore’ button on his phone. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Jamie said softly. He turned on his heel and left the room, and Alex, and all of the younger man’s devices.

+

In truth, Jamie had been afraid to leave Alex alone. The young man had just gone somewhere dark, somewhere he hadn’t been to in a long time, and had built walls around. That sort of resurgence of memory was dangerous without proper handling, but Alex seemed to feel that self medicating would put those walls back up as fast as they’d come crashing down. Besides, the memory of O'Malley emphasizing the importance of the integrity of their case overrode Jamie’s need to do something about Alex’s situation immediately. He didn’t even know the entirety of the situation, and that was another part of the problem: so far he’d been given bits and pieces of what had happened to Alex, and they were murky at best, jagged, and didn’t seem to fit together into any sort of chain of events that Jamie could map out. He needed to start looking at this as a case once more, objectively, and unbiased. He needed to start thinking like a cop again. 

When he returned to the pool house, Jamie found his thoughts turning to Alex once more: the slightly weathered case of an acoustic guitar was propped against the bed, and inside was a Gibson J-45 Standard with a vintage sunburst finish. Apparently, dropping three grand at a music store for someone else was something else Alex did with relative ease. Jamie still wasn’t so sure of the transaction - it was obviously Kane’s money, even though the card had Alex’s name on it. “He doesn’t even see the statement, anyway,” Alex explained, “he’s got an accountant for that stuff.” Alex had been so keen to buy it for Jamie that Jamie found himself nodding and accepting the gift after a bit of needling from the younger man.

_“Maybe you can play it for me?” Alex had asked softly as they watched the guitar tech at West Wood Music pull the instrument from the wall and give it a wipe down before setting it into its case._

Jamie sank to the edge of the mattress and pulled the case to his lap to unlatch it. Lifting the guitar out he set the case aside and then settled with the instrument on his knees. He flexed his fingers and set them on the fretboard and did a quick chord progression, fiddling with the pegs until he’d knocked the tin out of the tuning. Then, he strummed again, softly, flowing from chord to chord with no real goal in mind other than relearning the steps.

A quick rap on the patio door made his fingers skid along the strings and he looked up to find Casablanca watching him with a furrowed brow. The brunet let himself inside and nodded at Jamie.

“The fuck is that?”

“A guitar,” Jamie answered as sharp as Casablanca’s question had been.

“What the fuck are you doing with it?”

“Paddling a canoe,” Jamie answered wryly. He set it aside and stood up, watching as Casablancas looked past him and stared at the case on his bed. “You’re back from Clarke’s,” Jamie prompted.

“Yeah,” Casablancas growled. “And we have another new person to watch out for.”

Jamie scowled. “The fuck you talking about?”

“Clarke’s brought Zack Michael back.”

“What do you mean, ‘brought’ him back?”

Casablancas paced forward, still focused on the guitar. “I mean he’s paired Zack with Kane. Seems to think Kane can’t handle the workload, and Kane is shitting bricks.” Casablancas paused and fingered a tag hanging off the neck of the guitar. “Still has the pricetag on it,” he pointed out, glancing back over his shoulder at Cook. “Did you steal it?” He chuckled snidely.

Jamie reached and snapped the lid shut just as Casablancas pulled his hand away and for a moment the two of them stared at one another in a silent standoff.

“You gonna fill me in about this new development with more than, ‘Kane is shitting bricks’?”

“You haven’t touched a guitar since Katie, man. And I know how you felt about Katie.” Casablancas shook his head. “It’s Turner, isn’t it? Something happened in Italy. I know it, Valensi is sure of it, and Fab put money on it. Christ, you just can’t keep it in your pants for even a few _weeks_ , Cook. If your dick costs me my job-”

“Don’t fucking start on me about the _job_ , Cas, when you’re the one who was throwing loyalty to Kane back into his face while we were in Capri. What the fuck was that about? Taking orders directly from Barat? You don’t work for Barat anymore - or maybe you do, and you’re reporting back to Clarke? Is that it?”

Casablancas growled, and shoved Jamie back so that the smaller man backed into the dresser.

“Don’t go there, man,” Casablancas uttered lowly, flicking his hair from his eyes. “You’re in way deeper than you think I am. We’ve all seen the way you look at Turner.”

“And I’ve seen the way you bend over for Carlos,” Jamie hurled back.

“I’m not the faggot here, Cook.”

“You sure?” Jamie snarled. “Cuz I’m certain you’re the only one who’s fucking _any_ one at this stage.”

Casablancas snarled, and lunged forward with a fist. Jamie deflected, swinging to one side to deliver a jab to Casablanca’s ribs. The taller man grunted and recovered, weaving left, dropping, and then coming back up to crack Jamie’s cheekbone with a right cross. Pain bloomed flashing white in Jamie’s skull, and his ears rang as he stumbled to regain his balance. When he could move his feet sure enough, he threw a punch into Casablancas’ mouth, and snapped another one into his eye. With a roar of pained frustration, Casablancas lunged again, and tackled Jamie to the carpet.

They rolled over one another, sharp elbows, fists and knuckles battering at any place they could reach, until they were pulled apart, and hauled to stand facing one another, their shirts bloodied, hair in disarray, breath heaving.

Helders stood between them, Cas held back by Valensi, and Jamie by Fab.

Helders glanced down at the heavy ring he wore on his pinky finger and spun it round as he cocked his jaw and searched for words. Finally, he raised his head and looked from Casablancas to Jamie.

“Mr. Kane ‘as a meetin’ wiv a new client tonight, on behalf of Mr. Cooper-Clarke. I don’t think I need to underline the importance of this meetin’. An’ I don’t fink I need to tell you that your differences are best kept at bay for the duration of said meetin’.” He moved his gaze to Casablancas and hardened his stare. “Cas, you’re on watch tonight, here in the house. Fab and Valensi, I want you two in position at in the VIP before we’re there. Zack’s got your names with the doorman. Cook - you’re ridin’ wiv me and Mr. Kane an’ Mr. Turner, an’ Mr. Michael.”

“Who the fuck made you in charge?” Cas asked Helders, clearly agitated at being left behind.

“This is coming directly from Mr. Kane - you know, the man you work for? The man who pays you? If you’re dissatisfied, might I suggest you take it up with him directly?” When Casablancas did nothing more but sneer, Helders turned to Fab and Valensi. “We’re arriving at ten pm. Be there at eight, get a lay of the land, check your corners, understood?”

Fab and Valensi nodded, sharing a quick glance, and looking at Casablancas who clenched his jaw. One after the other, the three filed out of the pool house, and Jamie moved to get himself cleaned up.

“Wait,” Helders said, catching Jamie with a hand on his chest, much like he had on _The Doherty_.

Jamie turned to face him.

Helders’ next words were grave. “Casablancas is up to something. I don’t know what but...he’s been disloyal from the beginning. The fact that he’s still in close contact with Barat doesn’t bode well for him; the same goes for Valensi. You’re different. You’re packaged with these morons but you’re not one of them. And I can’t figure you out.

“I didn’t trust you - any of you - when you first came on. I’m still not sure about you, Cook, but I will say this much: Alex trusts you. For...reasons I suspect and I’d rather not give voice to, he trusts you, and that’s good enough for me. But be careful how far you go with it, aye? Mr. Kane is...he’s got quite a lot on his mind since this morning’s meeting with Clarke. I’m sure Cas filled you in?”

Jamie nodded briefly.

“Then you know how volatile these situations can get when Mr. Kane is pushed to his limit.”

Again, Jamie nodded. Helders’ choice of words didn’t go unnoticed, and once more Jamie took note of the care in which Helders handled Alex, literally and figuratively. If anyone in this house was an ally, it was the ex-boxer, and Jamie made the decision to keep himself in Helders’ good graces.

“I’ll...keep myself in check, Helders.”

Helders took a breath and stepped forward, dropping his voice until it was barely above a whisper. “Alex isn’t some toy to be used, and shelved when broken. He’s…” Helders cut himself off and looked away. “He’s more than Mr. Kane will ever let him be.” He stole another quick, pointed glance at Jamie and then left, slipping back onto the patio to circle the pool, and enter the main house.

+

The club was called _Cato_ , a new hotspot that was becoming popular with every evening it was open. On the ride over, between bumps of coke, and rye and ginger Zack brought Miles up to speed. Two months ago, _Cato_ had barely been a blip on the radar, and now suddenly it seemed everyone in Los Angeles was trying to get inside. The owner, an Australian by the name of Cameron Avery, had made quite the name for himself down under, and, according to Clarke, _Cato_ had potential as a drop bar, and Avery was favorable to join Clarke’s organization, perhaps even as a new boss eventually. Miles had perked up at that, ignoring Alex pouring his third gin of the ride.

“New boss?” Miles growled. “The fuck does he need one for? He’s got me.”

Zack shrugged. “Maybe he’s looking to break things up a bit? Homme had quite the swath; it wasn’t easy to handle for him.”

Agitated, Miles scratched his eyebrow and shook his head. “Clarke doesn’t have faith in anyone except for maybe himself.”

“Can you blame him?’ Zack grinned. “The old man just wants to be well taken care of when he retires.”

“He’s retiring?” Miles asked.

“Well, he hasn’t come out and said anything but...come on, Miles, the man is like...nearing seventy.”

“Who the fuck is gonna be in charge then?” Miles wondered out loud.

“Got me there, man. Why don’t you ask him tonight?”

Miles’ gaze snapped to Zack’s. “Clarke is coming? _Tonight_?”

“Yeah, I thought you knew-”

“He said you had the details, Zack! Clearly you forgot to share this one - or is that what you were ‘opin’ for? Making me out to be a fool?” 

“What?” Zack sputtered. “Hey, calm down, okay? Christ, Cave called me last minute to let me know Clarke has decided to join us.”

Miles glanced to Alex and snagged the glass out of his hand as it was halfway to his mouth.

“The fuck, Mi,” Alex muttered, frowning as gin dribbled down his chin onto the front of his jakcet.

“You’ve had enough,” Miles decided. “I need you sober. Christ, you haven’t done any coke, have you?”

Alex sniffed once. “I had a bump wiv Zack while we were waitin’-”

“Well, you’re cut off for the rest of the evening.” Miles turned back to Zack. “I can’t leave the two of you alone, can I? You’re worse than a coupla teenagers raiding their father’s liquor cabinet.”

Zack snorted and stole a glance of Alex who had paled, and curled against the door. “Yeah, well, that’s sometimes what it feels like, you know? For god’s sake, Kane, Alex is twenty seven, I think he can handle-”

Miles snapped his fingers and pointed at Zack with a cruel smile. “You’re not here to tell me how to run my ship. I know what’s best for Alex, an’ I’m startin’ to wonder if you do him more harm than good.”

Zack sat back and put his hands up placatingly. “All right, just calm down, Miles. Relax.”

“Oh yeah, that’s your answer for everything, innit? Always so fuckin’ chill, aren’t you? Let me fill you in on a little bit of knowledge that may be useful while you’re with working with me: this isn’t a game, Zack. I made the mistake and played it breezy an’ you know where that got me? Riddled with bullets while Homme tried to take over me holdings. This is business, you got that? We’re talking about million dollar clients, multi-million dollar accounts. This isn’t an eighth of weed for thirty bucks to the college kids hanging out in Portland.”

“Okay,” Zack murmured, sitting back in his seat. “All right. I get it.” 

+

Cameras flashed and the plebeians hung on the velvet ropes as cars arrived to drop off big names in show business. There was a clamour in the air, hung with the heavy bass coming from inside, the chatter of patrons who had to wait to get inside, and of course, the cries for attention from those on the wrong side of the ropes. All in all, it was electrifying, and Miles grinned as he paced up the concrete to the doorway, Alex’s hand tucked around his elbow.

“You look fookin’ fabulous t’night, laa,” Miles purred as he leaned into Alex’s ear. When he pulled back to take in Alex’s black-on-black suit he took note of the pout on the younger man’s mouth. With a snort of disbelief, Miles turned back to the doorman who was speaking with Zack. Beside him, Alex sighed heavily, and the sound made Miles’ jaw tighten. As Zack moved forward, Miles paused and tightened his hold on Alex.

“I’m only gonna say this once,” Miles muttered in warning, “don’t make a scene tonight.”

Alex glared at Miles.

“I mean it,” Miles continued. “Drop the put-out act, Al, weren’t like you were doin’ anythin’ important anyway. Stand up straight, an’ fookin’ smile. You’re out with me, remember? So be here.”

The younger man gave a sullen nod of his head and Miles waited a moment longer to ensure his point got across. Then, he looked back up to where the doorman waited stoically. Miles pulled Alex back under his arm and sauntered inside, flanked by Helders and Cook.

+

“You all right, kid? You’ve been on edge all night.”

Another bathroom, another time. I looked up to the mirror in the private bathroom of Cato’s VIP lounge and watched as Zack grinned back at me.

I sighed heavily. “God, Zackery, you don’t know how happy I am you’re here.” It was the truth. When Zack had shown up at the house in Venice late that afternoon I’d almost wept tears of relief. It was as if the last few weeks hadn’t happened - Italy, Sicily, Homme’s death, Miles’ subsequent personality overhaul - none of it mattered. Zack was welcome distraction, and I turned, leaning against the counter, to give him a warm smile.

“It’s only been a few weeks,” Zack pointed out, crossing the room with his arms open.

I let him hug me, and I sighed again. “A tumultuous fortnight,” I explained with a strained voice.

He held me at arm’s length and stared at me for a spell. “Yeah,” he murmured after a moment longer. “I can tell.” He winked and then reached for the inside pocket of his blazer and pulled out his cigarettes. Nestled among the pack was a joint, I knew it, and I watched as he fished it out and then moved to light it. “This should do the trick,” he added, taking a few hits and holding the joint out to me.

“I...I really shouldn’t,” I half-heartedly declined with a shake of my head.

“Look, it’ll take your mind off of things. Offa whatever’s bothering you, Al. You can’t fool me, you know. Jesus, you’re painting again, that’s huge. What changed? Miles doesn’t seem too wild about the idea,” Zack pointed out. When I didn’t move to accept his offer he drew it back and took a few more hits and then effected an exaggerated shiver. “Jesus, he was cold to you back at the house. You guys fighting?”

_I saw red when Jamie left, so I painted red. The canvas three-quarters filled with blue was moved aside for another blank space, this one a little larger. I tore the cellophane from new brush heads and found a new palette upon which to spread crimson, claret, vermillion, all shades. I jabbed the appropriate combination of buttons on my stereo and let the music consume me. I worked quickly, and without the fluidity of my previous efforts so that the acrs were broken, jagged, discontinued. Thoughts and images fired through my brain like shells from a shotgun; the explosion of voices, of cries of fear and humiliation rang. I painted harder, so hard that I may have scarred the canvas, scored it with my anger. I didn’t even realize I was being watched until the music stopped abruptly. I turned, brush in hand, red running down the canvas behind me, and watched as Miles surveyed the room._

_Slowly, he stepped inside, keen gaze taking in the multitude of canvasses, most still wrapped in packaging, before it swung to the easel where I worked, and the array of brushes and acrylics stacked on the small table next to it. I’d shoved furniture to one side to make room for everything; the bed and the dresser were both just barely accessible in the new configuration, and Miles took it all in with what I knew was practised, cool ease._

_His jaw twitched._

_“Went an’ did a lit’l shoppin’ t’day, I see,” he uttered as he turned back to look at me._

_“I...felt inspired, I s’ppose, an’ just had the urge to...I dunno, t’paint,” I explained rather lamely, my words rushing out before i could calculate their trajectory._

_“Yeah, I can see that.” Miles’ tone was brittle, and he flicked through my brushes, and tossed paint tubes aside with a frustrated sigh. “So that’s what you’re spending me money on now, eh? Gonna paint a nice sunny mural on the wall at the end of the garden?”_

_“No, I -” I paused, cheeks burning._

_Miles grunted and turned back to me. “Whatever. Look, I’ve got an important meetin’ tonight. Just...clean this up, an’ then get ready. Wear the blue suit.”_

_“Miles, tonight? We joost got home, I thought that we could...I dunno...spend some time together? Like, here. Like we used to.”_

_“Like we…” Miles rubbed his eyes and chuckled ruefully. “Like we used to. Laa, in case you haven’t noticed, things **aren’t** like they used to be anymore. Right? I can’t just drop everythin’ cuz you’re unhappy, babeh. I’ve got a job now. Homme’s job. An’ intend to do it to the best of my ability, an’ show Clarke that I was born to do this.”_

“How did you end up with this gig?” I asked Zack, avoiding his question and turning my hands over to grip his forearms.

“Clarke asked me to...help out while Miles gets settled with the pile of work he created. Did he really feed Homme to a crocodile?”

I bristled at the memory and shook my head at Zack. “You’re...helping Miles?” I ventured cautiously. “What does Miles have to say about that?”

“I don’t think he’s very happy,” Zack replied. “In all honesty, I’m pretty sure he loathes having me around. What with dragging you down with me,” Zack grinned. He held up the joint again. “Sure you don’t want a hit? Might get you down from the coke earlier.”

I pressed my mouth together and waved my fingers at him. “Hand it over.” I took a series of quick, short bursts and exhaled each one, my heartbeat fluttering and then calming in the next second. “Okay. I’m good.”

Zack’s chuckle crackled in the bathroom, and he slung an arm around my neck and pulled me close. “Yeah, you are, Al.” His lips fell to the top of my head as he turned us towards the door, which was already opening.

Miles had come to find me.

He paused there, looking at the embrace Zack and I were tangled in - innocently affectionate, nothing more than brotherly love. Miles’ face was almost unreadable - _almost_.

“Zack. Was wonderin’ where you got to.”

“Eh, yeah.” Zack’s arm eased off from around my neck and he took a step away from me. “Just stepped away to fix my hair,” he shrugged, sliding his palm over the smooth surface of his tresses, the length neatly woven into a tight braid that hung down his back.

Miles’ gaze cut from Zack to me. “Clarke’s arrived. Wants to get this meeting started.” His tone was clipped, and his eyes never left me. I didn’t dare look away. “Tell him I’ll be right out, won’t you, Zackery?”

“Uh...sure. Yeah.”

I felt Zack’s gaze on me before he left Miles and I alone.

“You’re happy Zack’s back,” Miles began, moving to the sink, his shoulder just brushing mine as he passed. He turned the taps on, passing his hands under the water, and I felt a cold tremor of memory run through me.

“I...yeah, I mean...I missed him.”

“Hmm.” Miles paused, slid damp fingers over his hair, and then picked up a towel from the pile and dried his hands. “That why you were hangin’ offa each other when I came in?” He preened in the mirror a bit more.

“Hangin’ - Mi, he were just...look, in case you haven’t noticed, things have been... _tense_ between us since Italy. I joost needed a friend, an’ Zack has always been there for me.” 

Miles raised his eyebrow in the mirror as his hands slowed where they adjusted his shirt collar. “Has he,” Miles asked flatly. He turned to me then, and pinned me with a hard stare as he slowly paced forward. “Lemme ask you somethin’, laa. Did Zack put you up in that house in Venice?”

I scowled. “Mi-”

“Did he pay for that watch?” He continued, grabbing my hand and raising it so I could see the antique piece he’d gifted me only months before. “The platinum chain on your neck?” He leaned in closer so that his nose pressed against mine. “That _suit_?” Here he paused, and gazed down at my black suit, decidedly not the blue one he’d asked for. “Your silence is resounding, Alex. _I’m_ the one takin’ care o’you, baby, at every turn. Roof over your head, clothes on your back, coke in your nose, alcohol in your veins.” As he spoke, his fingers tightened on my wrist, and I know he could feel my pulse hammering away beneath his thumb. “I _own_ you, baby, as sure as I own everything in that house. _I’m_ the one who’s here for you. The least you could do is show a little gratitude.”

“Miles,” I pleaded softly, trying to pull free.

He sneered, and yanked me close once more, bringing me up on my toes and making me gasp. “Gratitude, Alex. It would do you good to learn the definition.” His eyes gleamed as he stared at me. “So you’re gonna go out there an’ you’re gonna look grateful to be by me side, Alex. Are we clear?”

I nodded silently.

Miles nodded with me, a strange smile twisting on his lips. “This is your last warning, laa.” The hand not holding my wrist reached up and pushed my hair from my eyes, and then slid down over my cheek to hold my jaw in a tight grip. “Tonight is too important.”

+

Since Helders had broken up his fight with Casablancas, Jamie had been on guard with everything around him. Something in the house had shifted, a feeling of authority, or paranoia, had taken over, and it was palpable during the ride to _Cato_. He’d remained in the front seat next to Helders, who’d driven, but even removed he was tuned into the conversation behind him in the sprawling passenger area of the SUV. It had been near impossible to keep his eyes off of Alex for any period of time. The lad was a sip of something poisonous, with the tongue-numbing effect that black sambuca left in its wake. He was just as dark, too, with his black suit, dark hair slicked back to perfection that would have been laughable had it not paired so well with Alex’s romantically aquiline features. He’d hit the gin right away, and being that Zack was in the mix now, Jamie was certain that the cocaine high had barely waned, until Miles had spoken up.

The tension had steadily increased as the evening wore on. Cam Avery was as charming as his name sounded; a true gentleman with an Aussie gait to his words, a broad smile, and a firm handshake. Jamie could see why Clarke was interested in him as a possible choice; he was far less shrewd than Miles was becoming. He knew from Kane’s file that he had once been very much like Avery: charismatic and outgoing, flirtatious and boisterous. Jamie watched as Alex picked up on those traits, and shook his hand with an easy smile. With Clarke not due to arrive for another half an hour, Miles and Avery mingled over small talk while Zack did his best to ease the strain that was growing among the three of them. 

When Avery had suggested another round of drinks as he stood and smoothed out slacks, it seemed as good a time as any for the parties to disperse and talk amongst themselves. Avery busied himself at the bar with a leggy blonde he claimed to have picked up in Sweden, and Miles distanced himself to confer with Helders. Jamie hung back by the door and watched as Alex quietly wandered to the private bathroom. Zack soon followed, unnoticed at first by anyone else but Jamie. 

Clarke’s arrival was announced moments later, and Miles’ attention was pulled from his whiskey. Jamie watched as the Scouser glanced about in search of Alex. When the dark-eyed man couldn’t be found, Miles handed his drink off to Helders without a word, and headed for the bathroom. Jamie’s instinct was to follow, and as he turned to do so, he caught Helders’ gaze. Helders gave a faint shake of his head that made Jamie steel himself. Zack reappeared a few moments later, trudging out of the bathroom and heading for the whiskey sour he’d left behind. His brow furrowed as he downed the last few mouthfuls before he turned towards the bar and ordered another.

“Mr. Avery,” Clarke greeted as he was shown into the lounge. Mr. Cave followed closely behind, looming and silent as always. “Allow me to apologize for my last minute acceptance of your invitation.” The old man smiled and reached to shake Avery’s hand. “You throw a good party.”

Avery smiled, gripping Clarke’s hand warmly. “Thank you, Sir. And how many times do I have to tell you to call me ‘Cam’?” Avery laughed warmly. “Let me get you a drink - champagne? Whiskey?”

“The latter, yes, thank you Cam.” He then turned to the room. “Zackery, lad, you’re here...and Mr. Kane?”

“He’s...um.” Zack glanced towards the restroom as the door swung open and Miles marched Alex out like a schoolmaster bringing a student in for truancy. 

“Mr. Kane,” Clarke drawled smoothly, his mouth quirking. “So glad you could attend. And you’ve brought Alex. Did he get away from you, lad?” He chuckled, and Zack joined in.

Jamie stood straighter as he took in the way Miles’ fist tightened at his side. The hand that gripped Alex’s elbow snugged up, too, if Alex’s sudden flinch away was any indication.

“Just needed a breather,” Miles explained with a tight smile. “Got a little overwhelmed with all the activity and excitement of a new place.” His tone was a condescending mix of mirth and warning. “You’re okay now though, aren’t you baby?” Miles growled into Alex’s ear.

Alex nodded stiffly, but remained silent.

Avery cleared his throat. “Well, then...if we’re all here, and everyone has a drink...let’s have a seat, shall we? I’m eager to get to know everyone here.” He winked and gathered the blonde from the bar under his arm. “Anneke, darling, won’t you join us?” He kissed her hand and passed her off to stand next to Clarke. “Mr. Cooper Clarke here has spent some time in Sweden recently. Anneke just happens to be from Uppsala. Perhaps you two could share some stories?”

“Won’t that be a treat?” Clarke responded with a pleasant smile. He held his arm out and Anneke took it, and together they led the way to the horseshoe booth on the other end of the lounge.

“Fucking fantastic,” Miles groused, glancing behind him towards Helders. He snapped his fingers and motioned for him to keep watch, and then turned to Jamie. “Cook, don’t go too far.”

With another glance at Helders, Jamie pushed off of the wall and trailed behind to take up position wherever Kane needed him.

+

Turned out that Kane wanted me _right_ behind the table, three steps back, just within earshot if I leaned forward and looked completely fucking obvious. Nick’s gentle reminder from four days ago not only included stringent orders to keep my head in the game, but that the game also included gathering intel for evidence to build a case to take John Cooper Clarke down one step at a time. We’d been gunning for Homme, but as Kane had taken care of him, Kane was the next obvious choice. I’d missed my chance getting into Clarke’s home that morning; I couldn’t report back to Nick empty-handed. Moving half a step forward, I concentrated on the mouths moving around the table, and allowed for the background drone of thumping bass to fall away. 

The real distraction, of course, was Alex. I silently cursed Mal’s observation, Cas’ accusations, and Helders’ intuition, but couldn’t help zero in on how Alex shifted restlessly where he was wedged between Kane and Cam’s date, Anneke. While the blonde seemed perfectly groomed for her role in entertaining, Alex seemed to helplessly flounder, mumbling one-word responses to Clarke’s questions, avoiding Avery’s smooth smiles, and withering under the resulting glares sent his way by Kane. The younger man became increasingly agitated, downing his drink and twisting his hands in his lap, which only earned another sharp look from Kane before he leaned in and said something in Alex’s ear. My only indication that it was something negative was the way Alex’s face fell and his eyes dropped to his lap as he nodded stiffly. His mouth moved as well, and Kane sat back with a smug look on his face. 

Once more the conversation consumed Kane, and Alex’s attention began to wane. At one point, Kane’s fingers touched the back of Alex’s neck, wrapping around to grip him possessively as Alex craned his head to gawk and glance about. He sent a glance over his shoulder and I caught it readily, recognizing the helplessness combined with the boredom. Katie had often worn the look when she was forced to sit and look pretty at Barat’s side. It only lasted a second, but it was all Alex needed to make his message clear: he wanted out. Kane’s hand moved, this time to push stray strands of hair from Alex’s face and Alex stiffened, his attention snapping back to Kane. The Scouser raised an eyebrow with a challenging expression and was about to say something more to Alex when he heard his name and looked up to find both Avery and by Clarke watching him expectantly. Furrowing his brow, Kane wormed his way through an answer and then glanced back as Alex stifled a yawn.

“Perhaps this can wait, then?” Clarke suggested, gesturing to the dance floor. “Let’s take a break, shall we? Cameron, you don’t mind if I borrow Anneke here, do you? She’s quite a breath of fresh air, and I enjoy her stories from her homeland.” Anneke giggled and sent a flashing smile to Avery, who nodded.

“Of course!” Avery clapped his hands and gestured for Zack to slide out of the booth so that he could follow. “Of course, yes, let’s take a break before we really get down to business.”

Kane and Alex slid out of the booth to allow Clarke and Anneke to stand and move towards the exit of the lounge so that they could make their way to dance floor, Zack and Avery following. Helders lingered at the entrance to the lounge while I lingered at the booth, watching as Alex rubbed his forehead and moved to slump back into the booth. 

Kane caught his arm with a firm hand. “Not so fast,” he growled lowly, hauling Alex back up. “Let’s dance, hmm? C’mon, laa, we ain’t danced for ages. It’ll be like...what did you say this afternoon? ‘Like we used to’?” He snorted and tugged Alex towards the stairs thatr led down to the main floor of the club. 

I moved to follow, but Kane was already flagging Helders to follow. Kane then spared me a glance from over his shoulder. “Keep this area secure,” he ordered before he started down the stairs. Alex’s dark gaze flashed to me and then vanished as he he was steered by Miles.

“Fuck,” I muttered to the empty lounge. At this rate I wasn’t going to have anything to report back to Mal, and he’d probably pull me from the case just so they didn’t have to pay me extra to keep my cover.

Crossing to the balcony that overlooked the dance floor I watched as Clarke smoothly worked his way into the crowd with Anneke on his arm while Mr. Cave lurched around the periphery of the dance floor. Zack appeared moments later, drink in hand, a pair of redheads in tow, and then came Kane, stalking towards the floor and more or less dragging Alex with him. At the edge Alex stalled, and Kane whirled on him so fast that Alex flinched. It made me bounce on my toes as if I might launch right over the balcony. Fuck, what was he doing to me? I took a breath and assessed the situation. Things were starting to spiral, I could sense it, and that meant Alex’s welfare was going to be on the line. 

Grabbing Alex’s upper arm again, Kane yanked the slighter man and put his face into Alex’s. He walked them backwards until they were deep in the sea of people moving around them. The way he wrapped himself around Alex made me stop short and my hands curled over the ledge of the balcony, tightening as I watched Alex turn stiff and unresponsive. It was probably best I couldn’t hear what Kane was saying in Alex’s ear the next moment. Even from where I was standing I could see the color drain from Alex’s face, and I watched as he stared up at Kane, cowed, and helpless. My jaw tightened. Kane’s hand slid up Alex’s arm, around the back of his neck, and into his hair, tightening the tresses in his fist. Then, he pulled Alex in, and if I didn’t know any better I’d say he sank his teeth in and slowly began to drain away the last part of Alex that seemed to reside somewhere in the shadows.

+

Upon return to the mansion in Venice, Miles carted Alex into the house and up the main stairs without a word, leaving Zack, Helders, and Jamie his wake. Helders watched with a concerned expression, uncertain if he should do something to slow their ascent. Zack made a beeline for the kitchen, which left Jamie stranded in the foyer. He didn’t want to go back to his room in the pool house just yet; he was too keyed up from the last half of the evening. Perhaps it was just instinct, but something told Jamie that there was no point in turning in for the night. Instead, he wandered to the lower levels, and eventually found Casablancas in the control room of the house. The brunet barely afforded a second glance before he was up and out of his chair, tossing a copy of NME aside and pushing past Jamie to gain access to the hallway.

“What’s the status?” Jamie called, watching as Casablancas sauntered down the hall.

Without turning, Casablancas lifted his right hand and extended it, and his middle finger, back for Jamie to see. Then, he turned the corner to the stairs that would lead up into the kitchen, and left Jamie alone in the control room.

Sighing, he sagged into the chair and knocked the debris of Casablanca’s stay out of the way. Along with the NME magazine was a plate littered with pizza crusts, an ashtray that was half-filled, and a half a dozen empty cans that had once housed Coors Light. To Jamie’s deadpan delight, there was another six pack, this one untouched and obviously forgotten by Casablancas. They were warm, but they’d do. Cracking one, Jamie glanced from screen to screen and reached for the keyboard to enter the lack of activity into the log - not that it much mattered. Casablancas had been lax all night, and there were no previous entries. Movement caught Jamie’s attention at that moment, and he looked up to watch as Casablancas wandered onto the pool apron as Fab and Valensi slung onto the scene. They spoke among lungfuls of smoke and then ventured into the house. Jamie watched the screens as the three of them moved into the kitchen where they raided the fridge and crowded around the table.

He kept one eye on the monitor and reached into his coat pocket with the other, fishing out his phone and opening the voice memo recorder where he began compiling his observations of the evening. It was like downloading his thoughts in a way, making room for other things to come, but also so he would have a record of some sort that wouldn’t be easily found. He couldn’t just pick up the phone and call O'Malley with a full report. As Jamie moved from topic to topic, he found his gaze straying to the closed door that led to the bedroom shared by Alex and Kane.

“Kane is becoming increasingly agitated following the events in Italy. While he did make headway to secure floundering relations within the Mediterranean, it is clear that Clarke is still fully in charge of the West Coast. Zack Michael has been brought on board as what I believe to be a liaison between Clarke and Kane, whilst under the cover of being there to lend a hand to Kane’s growing list of responsibilities. It is clear that he will be under a great amount of pressure in the following weeks and months as he arranges for the takeover of Homme’s accounts. The fact that Cameron Avery has been scouted as a possible addition to Clarke’s organization does not seem to go over well with Kane. Caution to be taken in future meetings. Make note that Kane is beginning to show signs of megalomania and possible paranoia. Concern for Mr. Turner continues to be a growing factor.” 

Here Jamie paused and glanced at his watch before noting the time and setting his phone down. Glancing once more at the screen, he noted that Casablancas, Fab, and Valensi had left the kitchen; a quick scan of the monitors showed them huddled in the hot tub. Checking his watch he noted it had been a little over an hour since they’d arrived home. He looked at the monitor showing the door to Kane and Alex’s room and then sat back, rubbing his hands over his eyes. He didn’t know what was worse: having a fairly good idea as to what was going on behind said closed door, or not being able to do anything about it.

+

He was getting good at this - at not caring, at not flinching, no matter how hard Miles ploughed into him.

The threat had come easily enough, growled hotly into his ear, tinged with malice and whiskey: “ _Just you wait until I get you home, laa. Just you fuckin’ wait._ ”

The ride home had been agonizing. Desperate for any sort of comfort, he’d stolen as many glances of Jamie as he thought wise while Miles doused his anger in more whiskey, and cocaine offered by Zack and readily accepted. Jamie had met every single one. Neither of them were worried; Miles had paid enough attention to Alex during the meeting, it seemed, and now given the reprieve of the backseat Miles would indulge his selfishness.

Of course, he’d been right back in Alex’s face the moment the bedroom door had closed behind them. Oh, he’d been on him, snarling about Alex’s lack of gratitude, his insolence, his lack of respect when it came to being kept my Miles, and being in Clarke’s presence. It was on Alex’s tongue to lash back, to tell Miles that Clarke hadn’t been impressed with the show of Miles’ baser ways. 

“Aint’ got nuthin’ to add, baby?” Miles had snarled, crowding Alex against the wall. “Too busy burning your brain out with Zack, weren’t you?” He cupped Alex’s face and slid hard fingers into Alex’s hair, holding his head back against the plaster so he could look into those impossibly dark eyes. “What did I fuckin’ tell you on the ride over? Or can’t you take simple instruction anymore? S’the matter, Al? Can’t talk? Too scared, maybe. A coward.” Miles’ voice became quiet, faraway, as his fingers dragged down the sides of Alex’s face. Had he claws, there would have been grooves, but as it was he wound those long, slender fingers around Alex’s throat, and his thumbs pressed against Alex’s windpipe. “Can’t talk if you can’t breathe,” Miles muttered, putting pressure against Alex’s pulse.

Alex’s eyes widened. “Mi,” he gasped, reaching for Miles’ wrists. “Mi, c’mon, what are you-”

“Fucking root of me problems, ain’t you?” Miles muttered, his eyes dancing. His fingers tightened their hold.

Thrashing against the wall, Alex pleaded with him. “Mi, let go,” he rasped. “I said I were sorreh, I didn’t mean to embarrass you-”

Miles’ teeth gleamed as he kept one hand on Alex’s throat, and the other slipped down the front of his shirt, pulling at the buttons. “Shhhh,” he hushed coldly. “I’m in charge. Say it, Alex, baby. Say, ‘You’re in charge, Mi.’”

Alex swallowed against the grip on his throat and nodded as best he could. “You’re in charge.”

“An’ I’m gonna do what I want. What I need to,” Miles clarified, ripping the last of Alex’s buttons open.

He worked quickly, reducing Alex to a shaking mess with heavy hands that left a black eye, swollen lip, and fingerprint-shaped bruises that marred the delicate skin of Alex’s throat and collarbone. And Alex had fought at first, had pleaded and begged Miles to be gentle, to be done, to let it be over, only to have the blows come harder, and faster. Then, Miles went for broke, and tore Alex down from the inside out all over again.

He hadn’t even bothered getting naked, instead settling for stripping Alex down to nothing before he unbuckled his own belt, shoved Alex face first to the bed, and mounted. Alex’s sudden grunt of discomfort had either gone unnoticed, or most likely Miles was unconcerned. A heavy hand on his ass with a growl was the only indication that Miles was even remotely present. Then, his hot words had sailed across the back of Alex’s neck as Alex clutched the sheets and stared straight ahead as his tears slid into the blood welling from his cut lip.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ love it, don’t you, laa? Being put in your place. You’re mine. You know that, right?” Miles sighed and moaned and reared up, pounding into Alex with lazy strokes that made the younger man’s teeth rattle. “You fuckin’ love it,” Miles repeated, slipping his hands down to grip Alex’s wrists. “Bein’ mine. You’re mine.” He pressed his nose to the space behind Alex’s ear, and tightened his grip so much that sharp pain radiated through Alex’s wrists and hands, and his grip loosened on the sheets with a pitiful whimper. Miles grinned against Alex’s hair. “You’re all mine, Alex,” he moaned once more. “Every inch of you.” 

The wretched familiarity of the words shocked Alex and he struggled with a sob which Miles took for enthusiastic participation. The Scouser howled, and grunted again, delivering short, quick bursts of his hips, huffing his impending release as Alex retreated into his mind, and was scorched.

He whimpered as Miles pulled out, and again the sound didn’t register with the Scouser. The mattress bounced and croaked, and Alex closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of Miles getting ready for bed: water rushing from the taps, the swish of a toothbrush, the flush of the toilet, and then the flick of the light going out. Miles’ feet were almost silent along the carpet and the mattress soon sagged once more as he sat and opened the drawer on his bedside. He rummaged around for a moment before the sharp rattle of a pill bottle filled Alex’s senses. The younger man held his breath as the lid cracked open, and pills were shaken into Miles’ palm. Next came the telltale gulp of Miles swallowing, and an audible sigh as he settled back against the pillows.

He didn’t say _goodnight_.

He didn’t say _I love you_.

Alex held his breath until Miles’ had evened out. Then he moved, turning to see Miles sprawled on his back, mouth open, softly snoring, the valium having done its job. Dragging his fingers along the carpet, Alex found his discarded underwear and slacks, and clutched them in his grasp as he slowly eased himself from the bed. A tremor of pain wracked his body, but it was nothing compared to what he’d suffered in the past. That was the only way he could force himself to quickly dress, and then walk out of the bedroom: this was nothing. He’d been through so much worse, hadn’t he? He closed the bedroom door behind him and silently moved among the shadows to his own room in the opposite wing of the upper floor.

+

Jamie stared hard at the monitor that displayed the pool feed from the weeks prior to and following Miles’ ordeal in Chicago. He took note of how frequently Alex used the pool before Miles had been shot, and there was even footage of the two of them entertaining around the patio and beyond, to the grotto. Jamie could imagine it had been quite the hedonistic paradise; while he’d walked the area several times since his initial arrival it had always been under a shroud of abandonment. It was clear that the area hadn’t been used in a while.

There was a jump in date prints on the digital feed, something that didn’t sit right with Jamie. It could have been a glitch, he supposed; he wasn’t that adept with digital recording equipment, and his gaze swung to the hard drive of the system. That, he knew, wasn’t easily tampered with; the processor memory on these security systems was often linked right back to the security company. He made a note to follow up with Mal, to see if he might get their IT guy, Banhart, to secure a warrant to view the footage. Alex’s discomfort with pools, and subsequent surveillance footage gone missing was too much of a coincidence for an agent like Jamie to overlook.

Movement on the screen above the one he studied made Jamie blink and look up. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he saw a ghost there hovering in the hallway, pale and moving imperfectly down the hall. It was Alex, there was no doubt in Jamie’s mind, and he glanced at his watch, noting that it was almost three am. Alex’s image soon stepped out of frame only to reappear a few seconds later on the screen to the right, where the camera was aimed at the door to the bedroom he’d claimed as his own private one, now converted into a studio of sorts. Alex’s slender frame slipped in through the slightly open doorway, and then the door clicked shut, and the hallway was still.

Beyond his better judgement, Jamie rose to investigate.

+

‘Investigagte’ was precisely what he was not doing, standing outside of Alex’s private bedroom at three am. What Jamie was doing was checking up on Alex, something that he couldn’t help, not with the glances he’d sent Jamie’s way all night, not with the way he’d been so visibly upset after Miles had obviously reprimanded him at the table and then again on the dance floor. And Alex had crept cautiously on the screen as Jamie watched, as if the younger man might be caught sneaking out of Miles’ grasp.

With his thoughts tumbling together Jamie didn’t realize he was standing in front of the door to Alex’s room until his hand was reaching out, fist already connecting with the wood in a soft, unintrusive knock.

“Alex?” Jamie ventured. “It’s Jamie. I joost..” his voice, and his nerve, slowly unravelled, and when he heard no indication that Alex had heard him; that Alex was even still awake, Jamie moved away from the door and stared at it. His hand reached out again, hesitantly, and before he could knock the soft click of a lock unlatching fell into the silence.

“Jamie?” Alex’s rasping voice asked warily. Dark eyes blinked up at Jamie through a space barely three five inches wide. They were free of substance, clean and sober, and Jamie took a small modicum of comfort in that before he looked closer.

There was a bruise forming under one of those eyes, making Alex appear more sinister than he could ever be. Jamie winced and took half a step towards the door, ready to push it open. It was Alex’s startled breath, and the sudden panic in his eyes before they shifted in the direction of Miles’ room that made Jamie stop short.

“Alex, what-” He scowled and put his hand on the door, widening it a few more inches. Alex shuffled back, and watched Jamie from under the fall of his damp hair. “Jesus christ,” Jamie growled, looking the young man up and down.

Along with the black eye Alex sported a busted lip, fat and fresh with a cut that no doubt had come from one of Miles’ rings. Bruises smattered his jaw and cheekbone, and Jamie’s blood ran cold as he made out the bruises on Alex’s throat and neck, shaped like fingerprints, smudged like shadows. He didn’t fare much better below the neck, either, and his bare chest sported more dark bruises, overwrought with bitemarks, scratches, and even a handprint around his flank where it looked like Miles had held him down. A paintbrush was clutched loosely in the fingers of Alex’s right hand, and he was bruised and swollen at his wrists.

Gently closing the door behind him, Jamie let out a breath. The air in the room was humid and hung with the scent of a recent shower. The stereo was on, steadily pumping melancholy tones and thick basslines. The lamps were low, and the shade removed from the lamp closest to his canvas. For a moment, they merely watched one another, and Jamie scolded himself for the route his thoughts took: _Even beaten down he’s beautiful_. He shook his head and huffed. “Alex, why-”

“How come you’re here?” Alex solemnly asked before he lit a cigarette. Tucking it into the corner of his mouth he approached Jamie where he stood against the closed door.

“I...I were worried,” Jamie admitted softly. He gazed down at Alex with genuine concern. But if Alex didn’t want to talk about it, Jamie wouldn’t press. Not tonight - he suspected he’d been through enough.

Alex blinked slowly and took a drag from his cigarette. Exhaling a lungful of smoke he leaned towards Jamie, barely brushing his chest against the blond, reaching with his free hand to the deadbolt.

“I’m okay,” Alex answered in a small voice. 

Jamie took a breath, inhaling the heat of Alex’s skin, the smell of paint and the unique soft, sweetness of sweat and cologne. He bit his tongue as the slight movement made his body move that much closer to Alex’s. His knee brushed on slender, muscled thigh, and his hands involuntarily flexed as his side, wanting nothing more than to grab hold of the slighter man.

He was hardly convinced with Alex’s reply, but merely said, “I should go. Miles-”

Alex tipped his chin up and tracked the line of Jamie’s shoulders beneath the crisp, black button down shirt, gazing at the open buttons at the throat, and the dark blond hair that curled there against bronzed skin. “He’s passed out,” Alex announced thickly. “Won’t wake unitl noon, or later.” 

Jamie nodded, but he couldn’t wrap his head around Alex’s demeanor. “If you’re not there and he wakes up…”

Alex snorted with disbelief. “Do you really think he’ll notice, or even care?”

“He’s infatuated with you,” Jamie replied brusquely. He scanned Alex’s face. “Dangerously so.” _I can protect you, Katie_ , an unbidden memory came, _but you gotta let me_. He wasn’t about to let Alex be a repeat of that disaster. “I can’t...I can’t protect you, Alex.”

Alex nodded stiffly and tightened his jaw. “M’not askin’ you to.”

His heart broke a little at the resignation in Alex’s voice, and the gravity of his own statement. He couldn’t protect Alex, not here, not like this, but at the moment his hands were tied. “What are you asking, then?” Jamie ventured.

Alex clasped the cold brass fitting of the deadbolt and he lifted his gaze to Jamie’s. “Stay,” he answered, sliding the bolt into place. He let his hand fall to where Jamie’s hung at his side, brushing his fingers against Jamie’s before tucking them into the warmth there. His other hand reached up, ready to push into Jamie’s hair when Jamie stopped him, the solid grip closing around his wrist. Sharp, hot pain shot through the joint and Alex whimpered.

Jamie let go as if burned and he stared down into Alex’s face. “You don’t want this.”

The troubled look of anguish melted from Alex’s features, replaced with a dark determination. “I _do_.” He reached for Jamie again and this time got a firm grip on his dark blond waves. He leaned into Jamie, lining their bodies up, pressing into solid living, breathing, desireable heat. Fitting his palm to Jamie’s jaw Alex pushed onto his toes and pulled Jamie down to meet him.

Jamie expected a rough kiss, something vicious, something to pour out everything he knew Alex had to be feeling. Instead, he was greeted with a soft, languid press of lips, a gentle sweep of a cool tongue, and then the flirtatious grab of teeth on his bottom lip as Alex drew back. The next breath Jamie drew was shuddering, and he shook his head. “You _can’t_ want this.”

Alex shook his head and kissed Jamie again, firmer this time, and with more intent in the way he worked his mouth against Jamie’s. The hand that still gripped Jamie’s twisted and turned and he pulled until he pressed Jamie’s palm against his bare chest, right over his heart. “I want it,” Alex rasped as he pulled back. “I _need_ it, Jameh.”

Jamie’s heart fluttered at the way Alex’s voice snagged his name, ragged and hot, just like the breath sailing over his jaw. Beneath his palm Alex’s heart thudded, quick and steady, and his chest rose and fell with each breath he took. Ignoring all the reasons why it was wrong Jamie leaned down and quickly closed the gap between them again, kissing Alex firmly. It soon became another kiss, and another, and Jamie was lost in the dark depths of Alex’s taste for a moment.

The tug at his belt was like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head and Jamie sucked in a startled breath before breaking the kiss off, Alex’s name a desperate moan on his lips. He shook his head, dropped his hands to where Alex’s blindly fumbled with his belt, stilling the erratic attempts to take things further. Dark eyes sprung open in surprise, and Alex’s face flushed with indignance. “Jameh,” Alex uttered, reaching for the belt on Jamie’s slacks once more.

“No, Alex,” Jamie tried, shaking his head again and gently pushing the hair from Alex’s eyes. “You don’t have to do this.”

Alex pried open Jamie’s belt with a scowl directed up into that heavy blue stare. “I _want_ to. God, Jamie,” Alex’s words rushed out of his mouth and he kissed Jamie again, his fingers sprawling over the fly of Jamie’s slacks, finding the blond growing harder with each passing second. “An’ you want to, too,” he reasoned, fumbling with the fly.

Oh god, Alex was right. That voice was warm and thick with desire, just as Jamie’s veins were, and he was so hard, so heavy in the space between his hips. He’d felt his dick jump when Alex’s mouth had met his, now it just pulsed with his heart as Alex gripped and squeezed him. Did Alex even know what he was doing? Or was he lost in a moment again, on autopilot?

Once more, Jamie moved and took Alex’s hand in his own. Alex made a sound of discomfort that was muffled in Jamie’s mouth, and the blond pulled tore away and made himself take in each bruise and scrape with the scrutiny of a federal agent putting together a case. Looking down to Alex’s hand he frowned at the bruising and he immediately softened his hold. “I do,” Jamie whispered. “I do, you know I do.” He stole another kiss, soft and quick. “I want you. But you’re-”

Alex whined, his brows knitting together as his hands moved to clasp together behind Jamie’s neck. He pressed their foreheads together and shook his head. “Stop telling me what I want and don’t want. How I should feel. I just want…” He shook his head with a growl. “I just want something on me own terms for once,” he admitted, albeit brokenly. “Summat for meself,” he reiterated, dragging a hand down the front of Jamie’s shirt and slipping buttons open. “Please.”

“Wait,” Jamie stalled, taking up Alex’s hands in both of his. “Just...slow down.” Lifting Alex’s hands to his mouth he dragged his lips over the knuckles, before turning them in his grip and pressing soft kisses the palms. Then he let go and cupped Alex’s face to hold him steady for another wave of kisses.

Alex returned each one with growing enthusiasm. By the time the backs of his knees hit the bed he was shaking, panting into Jamie’s mouth when Jamie allowed him to pause and catch his breath. Easing back onto the bed Alex drew Jamie down with him, undoing the last of the buttons on Jamie’s shirt, and pulling the shirttails from where they were tucked into his slacks.

“Don’t worry about me,” Jamie insisted gently, pressing up with one hand on the mattress, the other moving pieces of Alex’s hair from his forehead. “Let me...just let me.”

A soft moan of approval sailed up from Alex’s throat and he nodded, scooting further back onto the mattress. He was a quivering mess as Jamie paused, deciding his next move. In the next moment Jamie’s lips were pressed to his jaw, moving over the tender bruises laid there by Miles’ hands. Each mark was acknowledged by Jamie’s mouth, from the sharp angle of Alex’s jaw, over his torn lip, his blackened eye, and then lower, to his throat and his collarbones. Beneath Jamie, Alex twisted and slid his hands over Jamie’s flanks, holding him close, trying to pull him closer as he raised his hips and conveyed a need he wasn’t sure he understood. All he could do was thread his fingers through Jamie’s hair and hold him there, hug that tapered torso with bent knees as Jamie’s mouth moved lower and ghosted over the sensitive peaks of his nipples.

One sharp nip of Jamie’s teeth made Alex cry out and buck, and when Jamie’s tongue lashed over him in the next second, Alex melted, a pleasured sob on his lips as he felt Jamie’s strong hands move with the purpose of giving Alex pleasure. There was a tug at his belt, and then his fly, an homage to his own advances towards Jamie, and his guts wobbled tenderly as Jamie’s fingers skated over the thin, sensitive skin and dark hair on his lower belly.

Alex gasped then, overcome with lust like he’d never felt before. It was intoxicating being touched like this by Jamie, and the blond’s warmth and his scent enveloped Alex, easing him into a safe place he didn’t realize he needed. Desperate to hold onto the feeling, his fingers tightened on Jamie’s biceps, and on instinct Jamie moved and put his mouth to Alex’s once more. The hand in Alex’s pants moved boldly, and Jamie’s tongue did the same and coaxed Alex into a heavy plundering of senses. The younger man tore away with a wet, ragged moan as those strong fingers closed around his cock and squeezed. Against the sheets his toes curled, and he bit his lip as his nostrils flared. His blood sizzled, and bolts of pleasure ran like white hot fingers along his nerves.

“Jamie,” Alex’s voice cracked, and he whined and clenched his eyes shut. The bolts of pleasure unfurled and swept over Alex’s body as Jamie quickly brought Alex to full mast and then established an eager rhythm. The blond’s breathing was jagged against Alex’s ear, shot through with his own moans that echoed each one of Alex’s. The idea that Jamie was just as aroused as Alex was staggering, and his heart skipped a beat as the older man whispered tender encouragement in Alex’s ear

“That’s it,” Jamie said gently, his teeth grazing the shell of Alex’s ear. “This is for you, yeah?” Jamie huffed and twisted his wrist as he sped up, making Alex choke on a moan. 

He couldn’t get over how fast Alex had come alive in his hands, how hot his skin seemed, and how hard and ready he was where Jamie gripped him. The blond himself was just as hard, just as needy, and when he twisted his hips he groaned as his own erection wetly dragged inside of his boxers. Alex’s own arousal was already slipping over his fingers; it wouldn’t take much, but Alex seemed to be stalling. When Jamie moved to see Alex’s face he frowned at the furrowed brow, the look of consternation etched clearly on those bold features. The cut on Alex’s lip had begun to slowly well with blood again as he chewed it restlessly, and galloped after his climax in vain.

The idea of finishing was lost on Alex. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been brought to this peak by anyone other than himself, and though he very much wanted to, he was almost terrified to take what he so desperately wanted. He worked with Jamie, rocking his hips in time with the firm, knowing touch, and chased the pleasure round his mind and his limbs until it seemed almost useless, and he was shaking with need. Then he heard Jamie calling his name, and he opened his eyes, surprised that they were wet with unshed tears.

Jamie’s blue eyes stared back, his mouth open softly in fascination as he panted with Alex. “I’m not him,” he said softly. Alex’s breath hitched and he blinked, tears spilling silently over his cheeks. Jamie nodded. “I’m not him, Alex.”

Releasing the breath he’d been holding, Alex gulped in another one, and let it out, oxygen carrying sensation through his body like waves of the ocean. The pressure of his pleasure built in between his hips and then overflowed like lava, boiling in his nerves and finally, gloriously, erupting in Jamie’s hand with a hot, raging rush. He cried out sharply, arching from the bed, and Jamie swallowed his subsequent cries with more kisses, each one softer and more languid than the last as Alex shuddered and moaned, and floated back down from his high.

+

Jamie stayed longer than he should have, and woke in the deep blue of early dawn as it crept into Alex’s bedroom. He’d fallen asleep with the younger man in his arms; it couldn’t have been helped. The culmination of Alex’s emotions, and the aftermath of climax, had exhausted both of them, and Alex had been unwilling to let go of Jamie. In truth the idea of leaving Alex alone hadn’t even been an option for Jamie. He didn’t want reciprocation; far from it. He just wanted to know that Alex was safe, and that perhaps he’d finally sleep.

It was after four by the time Jamie slipped out of the room and silently padded down the stairs. After clearing the kitchen and stealing out into the cold morning, Jamie trudged across the patio and entered the pool house. He’d stashed his phone beneath the drawer of the nightstand, and so he fished it out and quickly thumbed a familiar number. There was no ringing on the other end, just a click and a whir, followed by an automated double beep-beep.

“Go for secure connection,” Jamie muttered, before waiting for his cue to continue.

“You are secure for transmission,” replied a neutral voice.

Then, O’Malley was speaking in a sleep-addled voice. “Cook? Is that you? This better be good, it’s barely four am.”

Jamie let out a breath he’d been holding. “Yeah, it’s me. Look, I need to send you some notes. A bit of intel from earlier this evening. And...we need to meet, Mal. Face to face. Something’s changed.”

“You fucking _idiot_ ,” O’Malley barked. “What did I tell you? Huh? What did I say bout keeping your dick behind your fly and your head in the fucking game, Jamie?”

“I didn’t fuck him,” Jamie snapped. “Okay?” With a sigh he sank on to the mattress and rubbed his eyes. “But you’re right Mal, I’m getting too close and this needs to end. We need to move sooner rather than later. I can’t protect Alex out here. We need to get him into custody, and fast.”

“Right,” O’Malley mumbled. “Well, while you were out at _Cato _putting the moves on Turner, I was digging a little further into the kid. And what I’ve turned up is very interesting, Jamie. If what you’ve sent me is worth something, we may have enough to bring him in and freeze any business transactions within Kane’s household.”__

__“When can we meet?”_ _

__“Give me twenty-fours to compile what you’ve sent me and I’ll set a date and time. For now, keep your distance, Cook. What I’ve uncovered is gonna blow one half of this case wide open. I don’t need you fucking things up anymore than you might have already.”_ _

__O’Malley’s words stung, but they cut no corners, and Jamie knew he’d fucked up. “All right. I get it. I’ll wait for you to contact me.”_ _

__O’Malley didn’t bother to say goodbye, and simply disconnected the call. His tone of voice had worried Jamie. The news that there was new information about Alex, information that was delicate in nature, and that direct involvement with Jamie could render it inadmissible sat heavily on Jamie’s conscience. He was in the thick of it now, and there was no chance of a clean getaway. He just hoped he’d be able to make a sound case against Miles before someone else ended up dead._ _

__+_ _


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up folks: graphic description of rape / sexual assault in this chapter; plenty of emotional blackmail and manipulation. This one is intense.

Alex felt utterly foolish trying to catch Jamie’s eye at breakfast the morning after, but he couldn’t help it. They’d shared something the night before, or so Alex thought, and waking up alone had been the last thing he’d expected. The rational part of his brain reasoned that Jamie was no idiot; being caught in Alex’s bed by anyone in the household was risky; being caught by Miles would probably mean a fate worse than death, and Alex had shuddered at the thought. But the dreamer in him, the romantic fool, wouldn’t let go of the fact that he missed Jamie’s warmth, and the firmness of his embrace, the touch of his lips and fingertips. The pillow had still smelled of Jamie’s hair when Alex had rolled to one side and pushed his face into it. He breathed Jamie in, and let out a sigh of discontent.

The next few days passed in quiet solitude for Alex. He avoided Jamie as best he could, which wasn’t that hard, really. He seemed preoccupied with the security system once more, or at least pretended to be. When they did cross paths it was with flickering glances that would be almost flirtatious in another time and place. Now, they were risky, and awkward, and instead of putting himself through anymore torture, Alex holed up in his room, painting endlessly. Always the same image, that one burned into his brain, no matter how much coke or booze he drank to get rid of it. Sometimes, he found his thoughts lingering on the night he’d spent with Jamie, but it left a dull ache in his bones, and in his chest. So he painted more, all sizes, all colours, chromatic gradients in greens and yellows, shades of greys, and even browns at one point.

Miles was distracted, too, cutting deals over the phone, checking in with clients, and with Clarke no doubt, high strung with restless energy that Alex could feel whenever he got close. He knew better than to linger near Miles at those times. However, the man couldn’t be avoided entirely; there were acts to perform, after all, and Alex sat quietly through meals as Miles did business, barking orders down the phone, or at Cas, Helders, and even Zack, when he came round the house.

On the morning of the third day, breakfast was served out on the patio. Alex’s wandering glances were hidden by his sunglasses, but Jamie was proving even more elusive as he slipped in and out of Alex’s line of sight. With a pout, Alex surveyed the rest of the men assembled around the table. Cas was on Miles’ left, leaning towards Valensi and snickering about something Fab rustled the newspaper around while Miles chattered away into his cell phone. 

“Where’s Matthew?” Alex asked, sitting up and craning his head towards the doors leading into the kitchen. 

From over the expensive Fendi frames Miles leveled Alex with a hard stare, and then finished up his phone call. Setting the device aside, Miles picked up his knife and fork and cut into his breakfast. Charlotte was back on duty, it seemed, because Miles was seemingly in heaven eating his mushroom and spinach crepe. 

When he’d swallowed his mouthful, he shrugged at Alex and answered his question fleetingly. “With Zack.” He picked up his fork again.

Alex scowled. Zack had come round the night before after dinner, catching Alex off guard. Alex in return had been nervous, considering the last time Miles had found Alex and Zack talking, but Zack had assured him that Miles was on the phone with Clarke yet again. “Well, where’s Zack, then? Thought he were stayin’ here a day or two?” He looked back to Miles.

“Sent him on an errand,” Miles muttered around a mouthful. “Why?”

“I were just…” Alex trailed off as Miles’ jaw began to click with the force with which he was chewing. Alex shook his head. “Forget it,” he mumbled.

Miles snorted. “Zack’s not here for your entertainment, laa.” He jabbed his fork towards Alex in emphasis. “He’s here to do some actual work.”

Behind his sunglasses Alex narrowed his eyes and then stabbed at a few hashbrowns still littering his plate. Looking to the empty place next to Cas he noted that Jamie’s breakfast was untouched. Once more, Alex sought the blond out, this time finding him with his back turned, phone raised to his ear. He cut a beautiful profile, Alex realized, watching as the morning sun created a halo with Jamie’s hair. The man’s rugged features were drawn in conversation and he as he spoke he turned and looked up, directly at Alex. Alex froze for a moment, and so did Jamie, but then whoever he was speaking with had drawn his attention once more, and he turned back to the conversation. Alex felt himself deflate, and he set his fork down before pushing his plate away.

“Cook, get over here, your breakfast is getting cold - Charlotte’s crepes are outta this world.” Miles leaned back and barked at Jamie, scowling when he saw the blond chatting on his phone.

Glancing up, Jamie nodded, ended his call, and then moved to the table. “My apologies, Mr. Kane. Making a doctor’s appointment, is all.”

“Oh, aye?” Miles chuckled, reaching for his coffee. He took a swig before looking at Jamie. “Have to make sure everything is in working order, I suppose? Don’t want ya falling apart on me while you’re on duty.”

“Aye, that,” Jamie uttered, digging into his breakfast. “Got in to see him this afternoon,” he went on after he’d chewed and swallowed a few bites. “That is, if I’m not needed.”

Miles shrugged and looked around the table. “Not much this lot can’t handle without you, I think. I mean, there’s no serious work planned where I might need you or your gun, at least not this week.” Miles drained his mug. “Take the day. Get some sun. Do whatever it is that you do, I suppose.” He waved his hand frivolously.

Jamie frowned and shook his head. “Thank you, Mr. Kane, but if it’s all the same, I’ll only be a few hours.”

Miles grinned and aimed a finger at Jamie. “That’s what I like about you, Cook. All business. That’s why you’re still here. And you did save me arse, something that Alex here was sure to remind me of.”

Cutting his gaze from Miles, Jamie looked to Alex, who watched Jamie from over the frames of his sunglasses. “It’s my job,” Jamie replied, looking back to Miles.

“Aye, well...seems that we all need to be reminded of things from time to time. Isn’t that right, Alex?” Miles turned to the man in question and reached to brush Alex’s hair from his face.

On instinct, Alex turned his head away, barely a flinch, but definitely on the defensive. His hair swung, revealing the bruise on his cheekbone, and Miles shifted in his seat, and glanced about the table. The men there averted their eyes, stared at their plates, or their phones, and Miles leaned in, wrapping his fingers around Alex’s upper arm to pull the young man closer. Alex grimaced and pulled at the grip, but it only made Miles squeeze harder. “Maybe next time you could do a better job of cleaning that up,” Miles muttered, cutting his gaze sidelong to the men there once more.

Alex nodded. “Sure. Sorreh.” He stole a glimpse of Jamie and saw the sharp, blue eyes narrowed in disapproval.

Alex’s face burned - and he wasn’t so sure it was because of Miles’ reprimand. Over and over Jamie returned to that phrase, ‘It’s my job’; Alex now wondered if perhaps their night together hadn’t been part of the job, too, something to keep Alex subdued, and occupied. His stomach twisted and suddenly, Charlotte’s famous crepes were anything but appetizing. He slid his chair back, and it scraped over the concrete of the patio.

The move caused Miles to glare up at him. “Where you goin?”

Alex shrugged and gestured vaguely at the house. “Inside.” He refused to look at Jamie, even though he knew the blond was watching him again.

“Going to pout in your room again? Didn’t get it all out these last few nights?” He chuckled and shook his head, tucking into his food once more.

“Yeah,” Alex offered gruffly, his throat tightening. “Somethin’ like that.”

Miles’ mouth turned hard. “Just don’t spend all fuckin’ day up there wallowing in your self-pity, laa.” He glanced at his phone once more as it lit up. Before answering, he set his gaze on Alex once more. “Things are gonna start changing around here, laa. No more hiding out in your room, snortin’ coke and doing whatever it is that you’re doin’ up there. Are we clear? 

“Yeah, we’re clear,” Alex uttered tightly. He turned on his heel, and crossed to the doors leading into the house.

“Cook,” he barked, looking to the blond. “Go an’ see what the fuck his problem is.” He waved his hand towards the patio doors.

Jamie nodded and rose from the table, and tailed after Alex.

“Mr. Clarke,” Miles greeted, watching Alex’s form retreat. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

“Mr. Kane, I wanted to speak with you candidly. Normally I’d do this in person but I’m on my way into a meeting with Mr. Avery.”

At the mention of Avery’s name, Miles bristled. Still, he managed to sound calm. “Of course, sir, I understand you’re quite busy.”

“Hm. Yes. I might be busier were you not doing your job to the level you currently are.”

Miles allowed himself a self-satisfied grin. “Thank you, Sir.” It was a roundabout compliment, but a compliment nonetheless.

Clarke continued. “I feel as though perhaps I were hasty in judging your ethics, Kane. While I don’t always agree with your methods, I’ve just received reports from last month, showcasing the surplus generated from that unfortunate dealing in Sicily. On top of that, you seem to have placated those entities involved directly with Homme, offering a level of comfort I’m certain they never received from the man.”

“I...appreciate your call, Mr. Clarke. Business isn’t always made up of flawless agreements. I know we view the operation quite differently, but with your knowledge and connections, and my charm, I’m certain we’ll bring the organization the wealth and respect that is due.”

“That is what I am hoping for, Kane. Keep it up. We’ll be in touch.”

The call ended and Miles set his phone down with a satisfied sigh. _This_ was the respect he was fighting for, the acknowledgement, the loyalty. He’d come home from Italy feeling defeated; now two weeks later and he felt almost invincible. _Almost_. He glanced around the table, eager to share this new development with someone, but none of the options before him were viable. He found himself suddenly missing Alex. He’d go to him, stop this nonsense of hiding in his room, lurking in the shadows, waiting for Miles’ next outburst - and that’s all they were, Miles reasoned, outbursts brought on by frustration and indignation. He needed Alex back, by his side, the way things were only a few months ago - the lad had been right, and Miles saw the opportunity for a renaissance to flourish. Picking up his phone, he got Cas’ attention, and began setting his plans into motion.

+

I counted one hundred and twenty-six seconds before the knock on the door came. Even though I was waiting for it, the sound startled me, and I ended up grinding the cotton swab into the cut on my lip. It hadn’t hurt since that night; or rather, I’d been preoccupied. It stung somethin’ fierce that morning, and now it was twice as bad. I hissed, and cursed loudly.

The knocking continued.

“What?” I growled, exasperated. I knew it was Jamie. 

“Can I come in?”

Rolling my eyes at my reflection, I paused what I was doing and leaned forward, yanking open the door. “Why?” I snapped at Jamie. His jaw tightened for a moment, and I could see he was choosing his next words. I beat him to the punch. “Let me guess,” I started coolly, “Miles sent you. I can see why they all say you’re the best: no one gets the job done quite like you, do they, Cook?” His face flushed and I smirked before turning back to the mirror. I dabbed at my lip with the cotton once more. “Yeah, can always count on you to do your job...take care of your clients, an’ the like.”

Taking a deep breath, Jamie closed the door behind him and then moved behind me, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mr. Kane asked me to come and find out what your problem is.”

“You can tell Miles I’m fookin’ fine.”

Jamie growled. The next second his hand was on my elbow and he spun me back into the counter so that I was facing him. “I _know_ what the problem is, and so do you! The question is what are you gonna do about it?”

The edge in Jamie’s voice made my heart stutter and I felt myself wanting to cower. But this was Jamie. Or at least a version of him. Something deep in my guts told me that he was playing a part. Weren’t we all? “I was careless,” I offerend numbly. “He’s right. I mean, Miles is right, he shouldn’t have to keep telling me-”

“Are you even listening to yourself right now? Jesus Christ, Alex, I’m not always gonna be here to find you hiding in a bathroom wondering what you’ve done wrong. This. Is. Not. Your. Fault. Do you understand?” Jamie’s eyes tracked over my face, and his voice grew thicker with every word he spoke. “What’s it going to take for you to realize that you are in real danger?” He paused again and zeroed in on the finger-shaped bruises dusting my throat. “Does he have to squeeze the last breath out of you for you to finally clue in? If you keep coming back to him, then one day you won’t. And it won’t be because you’ve left him, Alex. You’ll be dead.”

“I...no, that won’t happen, Jamie-”

“It can and it _will_ , Alex, I’ve seen it first hand.”

“I’m not Katie.”

Jamie stopped short and inhaled sharply, before he stood straight and backed away as if burned. “You’re right. You’re not. You’re smarter than she was, Alex. And I didn’t see it then, but I see it now. You have to leave.”

“Where the fuck am I gonna go? You said it yourself, you can’t protect me. Miles can.”

“You can take care of yourself, Alex, I know you can-”

“You don’t know that. Christ, I fell apart like a fuckin’ fool that night an’ you barely touched me.” I scowled down at where my fingers twisted around each other, and then threw the blood-and-alcohol soaked cotton away with a disgusted noise. “M’fucked up, Jamie? Right? Fucked up, beyond recognition, repair, or any reason. I can’t get out. He won’t let me.”

“If I can get you out-”

“What the _fuck_ are you gonna do? You gonna take Miles down for me? Put me on the back of your motorcycle and ride me off into the sunset? What was it you told me in Italy?” I gathered up the tissues and put the cap back on the bottle of alcohol before giving a small, unamused chortle. “Oh, right: ‘This is no love story’. Don’t I fuckin’ know it.”

“Alex, if this is about...that night...about us-”

“Just...don’t, all right, Jamie? Don’t make me one of your charity cases, or whatever you wanna call it when you fuck around with your boss’ significant other.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care about you,” Jamie replied. “Alex, I wasn’t lying when I said I couldn’t protect you, but I meant that I can’t protect you _here_. I need...you need to get out of this house. As soon as you can. I can help, but you’ve got to trust me.”

God, I wanted to trust him. I needed to do it, so badly, but I’d been beaten down and wrapped around Miles’ fingers for so long that things were blurred. I loved Miles. Didn’t I? And he loved me. Ultimately, when it came right down to it, he loved me. He had to love me because I loved him. I was certain I did.

Jamie stared at me a moment longer, trying to make his case in silence, and a pleading gaze. 

I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see the pity there. I’d managed just fine after Homme. I’d moved on from that, I wasn’t that boy. I could handle Miles; I _had_ to. I didn’t have options, despite Jamie’s claims. And how could I trust him? How could I trust meself? Dragging my hands down my face I pushed Jamie aside and reached for the door handle.

Jamie’s hand closed over mine in the last moment. “Alex,” he murmured.

“Keep doin’ your job,” I gritted out. “It’s what you’re best at.” I pulled open the door and breezed out, making my way upstairs. 

I could handle this.

+

That afternoon, Jamie entered the seemingly non-descript building that boasted a ‘WestCare Clinic’ sign, and moved to the front reception desk. He was greeted by a young woman passing as a medical receptionist, who in turn directed him to have a seat, letting him know that he’d be taken care of shortly. He had to hand it to the DEA - when they went out, they went balls out, and the cover of a doctor’s office was flawless, at least to the civilian eye. The walls were painted with a muted, dusty rose color, the magazines spread on the table in the waiting area were at least ten years old, with peeling mailing labels. The idle chatter was pleasant enough. The others waiting in reception, however, were what gave it away, at least for a man in Jamie’s field. He eyed each one of them, and they eyed him in return, a silent greeting passing between them: all four of them were undercover agents in various stations of life. Their clothes told one story, but their rigid posture, and alert, observant expressions were a dead giveaway.

“Jamie Cook?” 

Jamie looked up from the cover of the Good Housekeeping staring up at him from on the table, and looked to the doorway. A petite brunette smiled at him. “Right this way.”

As soon as Jamie had cleared the waiting area and was being led down the hall, he paused. “Are we secure back here?”

The brunette turned. “One hundred percent, Mr. Cook. I’m SA Nguyen.”

Jamie nodded. “I need to make a phone call.”

Nguyen nodded and gestured to an office that contained a desk and a multi-line phone, but was otherwise empty. “All lines are secured. You can dial directly.”

“And the doc’s office?” Jamie grinned, raising an eyebrow.

“Down the hall, second door on your left.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He slipped into the office and Nguyen left, moving back in the direction of reception.

He dialled the number by heart, and waited as it rang a half dozen times. Finally, he heard the line connect and there was some slight fumbling, and then a voice mumbled, “Yeah, Banhart.”

“Dev, are fookin’ sleepin’ again?”

There was a pause, soon followed by a groan and a fond chuckle. “That you, Cook? Christ, it’s been awhile since we saw your mug down here. You in town?”

“I’m stateside, yeah,” Jamie offered vaguely. Even with the knowledge of a secure connection, he wasn’t keen on giving up too many details. “Listen, I need a favour.”

On the other end, Devendra Banhart sighed and then rustled around and clicked a few keys. “Does your favour have a valid warrant?”

“Not exactly. Call it a hunch.”

Banhart gave another sigh. “Is this gonna land me in hot water with Banks at the end of the day? Remember last time? God, what did he threaten to do?”

Jamie grinned at Banhart’s hesitation, but heard the clicking of keys regardless. “Summat about ripping your thumbs off and jammin’ them up your arse.”

Banhart snorted. “Right. Lousy for me. Though I feel like you’d be into it.”

“Fuck you,” Jamie chuckled. “Can you help me out?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can help. What are we talking? Phones? GPS?” There was a hint of excitement in his voice.

“CCTV. Digital feed.”

“Oooh, a challenge.”

“I need a hard drive hacked. The footage at the house has been wiped out, but the mainframe at the security company must have back up, right?”

There was more clicking on Banhart’s end, followed by the shuffling of papers. “Yeah, yeah, that’s pretty standard. Hold on here I’m just getting online. All right, feed me the details.”

Jamie rattled off the name of the security company, the file code for Kane’s home, and the dates, times, and locations of feed that he required. Banhart gleefully took the information and plugged it in.

“Good, this is good, Cook. I think I can find something for you here. Give me about an hour. You want this emailed to you?”

“Send it to Mal,” Jamie replied. “I’m just heading into a meeting with him, I’ll look at it when we’re through.”

“Roger that,” Banhart chirped. “Anything else?”

“Not at the moment, no. Thanks, Dev.”

“Sure, you’re welcome. We’ll be in touch.”

The line went dead and Jamie replaced the handset, and then set off for O’Malley’s office.

+

“You look like shit, Cook.”

Jamie snorted and dumped two sugars into the coffee O’Malley had brought him, before sitting back and running a hand over his hair.

“Got a lot on me mind,” he replied.

“Yeah, well, the only thing that should be on your mind is this case. This have anything to do with Turner?”

Jamie ticked his jaw and stared at the file next to O’Malley’s elbow. “Just...tell me what you’ve got, Mal. I’m running out of time.”

“Aren’t we all. All right, before we start, I’m gonna be upfront with you: this isn’t going to be pretty.” He set his hand over the file and looked Jamie in the eye. “In some ways, it’s worse than what happened to Ms. Downes.”

Jamie sat straight and leaned forward. “Right,” he nodded stiffly. “Let's have it.”

“I had intel pull as much as they could about Alexander David Turner - birth certificate, school records, places of residence, employment history, and medical records.” Here, O’Malley hesitated. “And for the most part, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before: young man, little to no family, disenchanted with school and life, gets caught up with the wrong crowd and before you know it, he’s a kept man, under Kane’s thumb.” O’Malley had opened the file and was laying out various pieces of the puzzle for Jamie as he spoke. “His medical records come back with nothing significant, really - colds, flu, chicken pox, no STDs or STIs, pretty much a healthy guy. Then we get to a few months ago.”

Jamie watched as O’Malley dropped his hand to the seat beside him. The brunet proceeded to set a nondescript white box down on the table. The block print in blue ink was blatant enough: SEXUAL ASSAULT EVIDENCE COLLECTION KIT. Jamie felt his stomach drop, and he fought to maintain composure.

O’Malley took a moment to gauge Jamie’s reaction, and his tone was gravely neutral as he continued. “This was collected at Marina Del Rey on June 7th, at 3:17 am, where it’s been sitting under ‘anonymous’ as the victim refused to press charges. I don’t think you need me to tell you who the victim is in this case.” He turned the box towards Jamie so that the label was facing him: the jagged script of a charge nurse had written Alex’s full name, his date of birth, the date and time of the collection. Below was a transfer of custody report, and Jamie noted that O’Malley’s was the only name and signature present.

Jamie blinked rapidly as O’Malley’s words sank in. The feed missing from the CCTV at the house was between ten pm on June 6 and eight am on June 7. He took a breath and he watched as his partner moved to open the box.

“Wait,” Jamie growled. “Give me a set of gloves. I’ll do it meself.”

O’Malley cocked an eyebrow warily. “Are you sure? Look, I’ve been through this, Jamie, we don’t have to go into detail, I can tell you anything you want to know-”

“It’s my case, my job,” Jamie rasped. “Gloves.” He motioned with his fingers.

O’Malley snapped open the pouch on his belt and handed Jamie a set of latex gloves and then sat back and watched as Jamie prepared himself.

+

_**Victim’s Last Name: Turner First: Alexander Initial: D DOB: (y) 1986 (m) 01 (d) 06** _

_**Articles of clothing: black spandex swim trunks size medium, grey hooded sweatshirt size large. Black flip flops.** _

_“Alex, we need you to take your clothes off.”_

_He made a small, wounded sound in the back of his throat, and his voice croaked as he shook his head rapidly. “I can’t…”_

_“Alex, we need to do a full exam and collect as much evidence as possible,” the nurse continued. “I know you’re scared. You’re safe here. Do you want me to bring in Mr. Helders?”_

_Alex shivered, and nodded, and curled his toes against the long sheet of butcher’s paper where he stood. Wrapping his arms around himself he tucked his chin into his chest, and waited as the nurse left to collect Matthew._

_The process was agonizingly slow, made so by Alex’s cold, stiff muscles, and the shivering that still racked his body. He wasn’t fully naked for more than a few seconds before a paper gown was being pulled around his body, his arms numbly moving to accommodate. The scrape of his feet against the paper was more than just irritating. It made Alex clench his jaw, and tighten his fists at his side._

_“I don’t wanna do this,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “I joost wanna go. Matthew, I wanna go-”_

_“I know, Alex,” Matt whispered brokenly. “Can you hold out for a bit longer?”_

_Stifling a sob, Alex nodded, his face burning as the nurse approached and informed Alex that they needed to take pictures first._

Jamie’s hands shook as he flipped through the hi-def images one after the other. Out of frame a nurse stood behind Alex and held the bulk of his hair out of the way with a gloved hand while they captured images of the injuries sustained by his face, head, and neck. The cut on his cheekbone was split open like an overripe guava, and it stared Jamie in the face. Christ, he’d seen that, seen it in the process of healing. His mouth went dry as he flipped to another picture, this one of a large bump at the back of Alex’s head, and another of fingertip shaped bruises at the base of his throat. There had been a cut to his lip, and blood crusted under his nose and around his nostrils - _**evidence of cocaine collected, ingestion questionable; victim’s blood alcohol level at time of report: 0.07.**_

From there, the pictures gradually became worse, moving down Alex’s battered, and bloodied body, parts of the gown moved aside, held back, focus zooming in on the scrapes down Alex’s flanks, the bruises on his wrists, the blood and tissue still snarled under his fingernails. There were images of bruised hip bones, jagged scratches up his back and on his shoulder blades, and once more, the file took an even more gruesome turn.

_He was starting to itch terribly, where the blood and semen had dried to his skin. It stuck in his pubic hair and pulled without mercy, and the hot, blooming ache deep in his guts and lower still was starting to make him feel nauseous._

_“Can I...I wanna shower,” he quietly begged. “Please, I can’t stand this…”_

_“Alex, please bear with us,” the charge nurse asked calmly. “We’re almost done. Stacie is going to swab under your fingernails, and then we need to collect some samples, blood, semen, saliva…” the charge nurse - what was her name? Heather? Heather trailed off and glanced to Matt. “If there’s been trauma to the anal area, we need to make sure there’s no internal bleeding. It’s invasive, but it needs to be done.”_

_Alex’s head came up at the word ‘invasive’ and he began to keen pathetically, and shake where he stood. “No, no, no, Matthew, don’t let them, please! I don’t wanna do this, just wanna get clean, get out of here, please…”_

_**(Cont’ of Incident Report): Victim became reluctant to have colonoscopic procedure carried out; victim was sedated with 20mL diazepam at 3:46 am. Procedure carried out by Dr. Douglas Yarrow. See attached files.** _

Stitches. Sutures. Prescriptions for sedatives, painkillers, muscle relaxers, laxatives… Jamie’s eyes scanned the list, jumping back to the pictures that he’d laid out on the table. Dark streaks of drying blood, some of them almost black, covered the insides of Alex’s thighs, spiderwebbing down at his ankles, and pooled about the pads of his toes. The backside was a horror show, more blood, more bruising, and the defeated slope of shoulders made Jamie’s guts heave. Fingering the edge of the pictures, Jamie shut his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to conjure the image of Alex from three nights ago, fresh from the shower, beaten, but not defeated. He’d been pale and perfect, unmarred, a swath of smooth, sweet skin, from head to toe-

Jamie blinked his eyes open and rifled through the pictures again until he was looking at Alex’s naked, bloodied feet where they stood on the butcher’s paper.

His _toe._

The day of Cook’s first meeting with Kane in his private office came to mind. The mark on the tile in Kane’s office had been that very shape, and had most definitely been blood; he’d known it at first glance.

What had Alex said the other day when he’d been painting?

_“On the stone. On the wood. Bled everywhere while I watched that boy be torn apart.”_

“Cook? What is it?”

Jamie raised a hand at O’Malley’s interruption and rubbed at his eyes as he forced his brain back to that day.

 _“There was...the floor was wet. The tile. I thought it was… I thought it were water,”_ Alex had rasped. _“He made me bleed.”_

Jamie needed to get into that office. “How easy would it be to conceal a blood sample kit?”

“Cook?” O’Malley drawled.

“This never went to case, right? I mean…” he paused and fingered the tissue samples they had scraped from beneath Alex’s fingernails, and the swabs from the genital regions, and the anus. “Do we know who did this?”

O’Malley shrugged. “Without Alex’s consent, it sits on a shelf and remains a mystery.” The brunet leaned forward and narrowed his gaze at Jamie. “You’re onto something.”

Jamie nodded. “I am. At least...I think I am. I need a sample kit, and to arrange a drop. Banhart is pulling digital feed from Kane’s cameras on the night in question.” Here, Jamie tapped the datestamp on the incident report. 

“You think it was Kane,” O’Malley suggested.

“Kane was recovering from six bullet holes at the time. So it couldn’t have been him.” Jamie scowled as he shifted the pictures, the incident report, and what he had learned from Alex, around in his head. “Mal, we need to get him out of that house.”

“Think he’ll talk?” O’Malley asked, sitting forward.

Jamie had to keep himself from growling. “Does it matter?” he snapped. “He’s not safe there, all right? God, I can’t believe I didn’t see the signs sooner - the pool…”

“The pool?” O’Malley echoed. He was about to go further when his phone buzzed. His gaze slid down to the screen where he read the notification. “Incoming email from Banhart with attachment. I’m assuming that’s for you?”

“Can we bring it up on the laptop?” Jamie asked, nodding to the computer resting closed on the other end of the desk.

O’Malley nodded and grabbed the laptop, and swung his chair around next to Jamie’s. Once the computer was booted up, and the appropriate passwords had been entered, O’Malley opened the message from Banhart, and clicked on the attachment. The screen switched to the default media player and at once, a grainy security cam feed filled the frame.

“Fast forward through this,” Jamie said lowly, glancing to the incident report. “Put it at...eleven pm.”

O’Malley clicked a few keys and they watched the view of the pool scan forward with no change in scenery: the pool was like glass, lights beneath the surface burning hot white. Most of the area was in shadow. Hardly any breeze that night, Cook noted, watching as the plants didn’t stir. The feed crawled forward for ten minutes, fifteen, twenty, and then twenty-five, and O’Malley heaved a sigh and sat back with a shrug. “If I’m gonna look at nothing for another half hour...I’ve got work to do-”

“Look, this was deleted from the system in Kane’s home, okay? I had to get Banhart to use a backdoor into the security company and hack into their hard drive. There’s a reason - there.” Jamie stopped talking as Alex’s lanky frame wandered into view from behind the camera. The camera was aimed so there was a view of the patio door. “He took the downstairs route,” Jamie muttered, his mind filling with the blueprints of the house. 

Both men leaned forward and watched as Alex unbuttoned his shirt and slung it over the back of a chair, and slid his feet from his flip flops. From there, Alex stepped into the pool, wading until he was to his waist, and then dove under. He crawled laps back and forth for the next five minutes or so until he paused and moved to the edge of the pool for a moment. He lingered there, back to the camera, arms folded on the ledge, just soft of floating, more than likely catching his breath. Then, he was back at it. Jamie and O’Malley watched as Alex swam, turned, swam back, turned, swam away - and then movement on the screen once more captured their attention.

“Who the hell is that?” O’Malley murmured, narrowing his gaze.

It didn’t take a genius to figure it out: Josh Homme stepped into the light, his shock of strawberry blond hair a dead giveaway on screen. He crouched down at the edge of the pool, watching as Alex swam for a few more laps. Jamie stared, unblinking, watching the angle of Homme, and taking note of Alex’s perspective. 

At some point Alex must have noticed Homme crouched there, because suddenly he was surfacing, wiping at his face while Homme appeared to be speaking. There was an exchange, and then Homme was standing and heading to where Alex’s belongings were strewn about. Alex was out of the water seconds later, grabbing his shirt out of Homme’s grasp and wrapping the towel around his shoulders. At last, Alex moved, trying to get past Homme, when Homme’s hand swung out and caught Alex’s elbow. Jamie tensed in his seat, his hand clutching the arm of the chair.

In the next moment, they were moving towards the camera, Alex clearly upset, and Homme stone-faced. Then, they vanished out of frame, and a feeling of dread washed over Jamie. The feed ended, and O’Malley sat back with a heavy sigh, eyeing his partner warily.

“So it was Homme.”

Jamie didn’t move.

“Explains why Kane fed him to the crocs.”

“Kane doesn’t know,” Jamie muttered.

O’Malley snorted. “How can Kane _not_ know? Christ, you saw the pictures, Cook, there’s now way Turner could have hid this from Kane. Now we have an MO for Homme’s murder-”

“Kane went after Homme because Homme tried to kill him.”

“And he raped his boyfriend,” O’Malley added sharply. “So he’s got two reasons. Hell, Turner could have helped orchestrate this, for all we know!”

Once more, Jamie shook his head. No, that couldn’t be true, not with the condition Alex had been found in at Barat’s that night, and not with the way Kane had been acting leading up to Italy, and in the days that followed. Fab had said it himself: Alex had been roughed up the night of Homme’s death, and Homme was faring much worse by the time they’d been pulled apart. Alex had wanted to kill Homme, but he’d had something much more personal in mind. It would explain why Alex was so eagerly distraught at Marco’s compound. 

“You said you wanted to bring Turner in, now we have reason to,” O’Malley pointed out. “Even if he _isn’t_ responsible for Homme’s death.”

“All right, look. We can’t use the kit, it’s inadmissible at this point as Alex didn’t press charges. I need that blood sample kit I asked about, and I need some time, Mal.”

“We’re running low on that as is. Banks is about ready to tear off my head and shit down my throat because we’ve been fucking the dog for the last four months on this.”

“We get Alex out without blowing my cover, and we’ve got a slew of information, Mal. Names, dates, inside perspective of both Clarke and Barat’s properties...and we’ll have Kane by the balls.”

“You think this is gonna work?”

Jamie rubbed a hand over his chin. “It has to.”

+

Crouched in front of a blank canvas with a lit cigarette dangling from his lips, Alex contemplated his next move. Christ, he wanted to paint, wanted to put it all on the white in front of him, just let himself bleed every colour that was clamouring in his veins and yet...he felt stifled, and anxious. His parting words with Jamie still rang in his ears, and he’d bypassed Matt’s insistent protests, moving upstairs without so much as a second glance back. Only the sharp rap of knuckles on the doorjamb caused Alex to glance back over his shoulder, standing abruptly as Miles took up the space in the doorway.

Miles glided in uninvited, and waved at the canvas Alex had been staring at. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Alex shook his head and tucked the brush he’d been grasping into his back pocket, and drew his palms over his hair. “No, it’s fine. It’s...really, Mi, it’s nowt. All of this,” Alex grumbled, gesturing to the newly-found artist’s lair facade of his former bedroom.

“So...not only are you spending me money...but now you’re telling me it’s a waste?”

“No,” Alex hastily moved to explain. “No, I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just...This doesn’t exactly make you happy.”

“But it makes _you_ happy,” Miles ventured, cocking an eyebrow and stepping into the room.

“I…” Alex couldn’t answer him.

He didn’t really have to. “I’m not an idiot, laa, give me some credit. I know what you studied in school.” He shook his head and crossed the space between them, pausing as he neared Alex and took in the faint bruising on the edges of his face. Miles’ features fell. “Soz,” he muttered, sounding much younger than he ever had before. “Christ, you were so beautiful when I first met you, Alex. You _still_ are. An’ I gotta go and mess that up.”

Alex frowned, his one hand cupping his elbow as he crossed his arms over his body. “I’m...I mean...I deserved it, Mi. You know…” He shrugged as he trailed off.

“Might have deserved a slap to the wrist but…” Miles shook his head as he looked at Alex trying to not to tremble under his gaze. “Christ, I’ve gone an’ really fucked this up, haven’t I?” Sighing in frustration, Miles raked a hand over his hair and turned to the half-filled canvases stacked against the wall. “Suppose you won’t be paintin’ me portrait any time soon.”

Alex wrinkled his nose. “M’dreadful wiv portrait work, Mi.”

Miles whirled. “See, I should know that. I should know about that, know all of this about you, and yet I let it slip through me fingers. I know how much paintin’ means to you, Al, I just thought...you were over it. I’m selfish. Want you all to meself, you know.”

Alex let out a sigh, resigned, yes, but also a bit playful. Cocking his head at Miles, he raised a curious brow. “Well,” he said gently, gesturing to the room. “You got me.”

Miles shook his head. “Nah. I don’t. Or, I’m losing you, at least. Feels like it sometimes.” He sighed then, shoulders sagging, his expression pleading. “Tell me I’m wrong?”

Alex blinked rapidly and looked away. “I...Miles, it’s just been all so...overwhelming. I mean, first you get shot, an’ then Capri, and Homme, an’... Sometimes I feel like I’m losing you, too.”

The younger man’s admission made Miles’ smile appear like a beacon, and he shook his head and moved towards Alex, already reaching to embrace him. “Nah, laa. You’ve always got me. I’m yours, baby, you’ve gotta know that. An’ you’re mine.” Here the Scouser paused, and took up Alex’s hands. “Look,” he sighed, leaning to press their foreheads together. His voice softened with his next words. “I know that Capri wasn’t what we thought it would be - hell, the last thing I expected was having to take Homme down, but...it were gonna happen eventually. Our lit’l getaway was ruined by that bastard, but he’s gone now, aye? He can’t ruin anythin’ anymore. No one can. Just you an’ me, laa, the way it’s always been.”

Alex breathed out and his gaze flickered up to Miles’, the light coming from the window scattering the browns and greens in the older man’s irises. He felt himself grow warm, and fumble. “Oh, god, Mi,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around Miles’ neck and slipping his fingertips over the hair at the back of his neck.

Miles’ hands slid down Alex’s torso, and slipped to rest in the spaces between his ribs. “I’ve said this a hundred times before, Al, baby, but I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about everything that’s happened these last months. I never wanted to hurt you - never want to hurt you again. I were...angry. Angry with meself, angry with Homme, with Hughes, with Barat, Clarke...all of them. But not you. Please, baby, trust me on this. I’m here, I’m yours, an’ I want you. All of you, all the time.” Reaching up with one hand, he held Alex’s chin in the crook between his thumb and forefinger, his thumb smoothing over Alex’s plump bottom lip, frowning at the bruise just left of it. “Let me make it up to you for the rest of the day, and all through the night.” Brushing his lips over Alex with a feather-light touch, he sealed the deal.

It did the trick - Alex’s cheeks turned pink as Miles pulled away, and he bit his lip and cast Miles a coy glance upwards through thick, dark lashes. Alex’s resolve to remain angry with Miles melted, along with the unease that had be hanging over them for the last several weeks. This was what he had missed - _whom_ he had missed, the charming, suave, sexy Miles Kane, ready with a smile and a touch that could make Alex forget everything else but the man himself.

“Well,” Alex mumbled playfully, “I dunno, what did you have in mind?”

“Let’s go for lunch - just the two of us. Or at least sans entourage. I’ll leave everyone here, save for maybe Cas. He can wait in the car. C’mon, I’ve already made reservations.” Miles pulled away and turned to Alex’s closet, throwing the doors open and searching for something to wear. “It’s casual, but one of your faves.” He reached into the wardrobe and pulled out Alex’s short-sleeved button up, the one with the navy and white gingham check and brushed past Alex to lay it on the bed. “Let’s get you dressed, yeah? C’mon, laa.”

Alex looked up from where Miles laid out his clothes and automatically nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, of course Mi.”

Miles nodded, too, and then gestured to the bed. “I’ll wait.”

“I...I should shower-”

Miles quirked an eyebrow, but he relented with little fuss. “All right. But reservations are at one.”

Alex checked his watch. It was just past eleven. “I’ll just be a few minutes,” Alex reassured him.

Sinking to the mattress, Miles waved towards the bathroom. “Then get movin’, laa. Can’t wait to take you out, show ya off.”

+

Distracted driving law in effect, Jamie still drove with half a mind on what he’d just seen in that office with O’Malley. He’d gone over the kit three times, looking for something - anything - that would name Homme as the assailant without any doubt. It was cases like these that Jamie wished photographs were enough: Alex had definitely suffered at the hands of that brute, and Jamie was more than a little pissed that Homme had already met his demise. He’d never liked the man to begin with, and were he still alive, Jamie would have gladly torn his throat out with his bare hands.

In his mind’s eye he rewatched the feed Banhart had secured for him, went over the contents of the rape kit, flipped through the pages of the incident report...and then it clicked.

Helders.

Helders had signed off on the forms as Alex’s guardian that night. Of _course_ Helders, it was so obvious with the way the ex-boxer handled Alex with such care and consideration. He may have been loyal to Kane, but Helders had a soft spot for the Turner lad. Jamie put his foot on the gas a little harder and steered out of West Hollywood towards Venice. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before - perhaps because he was so obsessed with the missing footage. It was staring him right in the face: go over the footage from the other entry and exit points for that night, the next morning, and the days following. He just hoped Homme had been as sloppy as he was hasty, and hadn’t bothered with the other digital recordings. He’d be hard pressed to contact Banhart with a secure line again.

+

“I dunno about you, laa, but I think I’m gonna be sweatin’ mercury for the next day or two.” Miles leaned back in his chair at the intimate table for two set next to the outdoor koi pond at Yamashiro Sushi. Tucked into the Hollywood Hills, it was a far cry from Alex’s favorite sushi restaurant, but it was still sushi, Miles insisted, one of Alex’s favorites.

Alex didn’t seem to be complaining as he chewed on the last piece of tuna belly, and then picked up his beer to wash it down. He giggled at Miles’ comment and swallowed his mouthful, sitting back with a sigh and looking out over the pond. Several of the tables that had been full when they’d arrived were now emptying, as the afternoon crept far beyond two pm. Both men were stuffed, but they had no intention of moving. Fresh beers arrived, and their plates were cleared away. When they were finally alone, Miles leaned forward in his chair and reached across the table, palm up, waving his fingers for Alex to take. With a smalls mile, Alex obeyed, and let Miles grasp his hand, and run his thumb over the back of it.

“Was it good, laa?” Miles asked.

“Amazing,” Alex nodded. His smile made the corners of his eyes crinkle, and glanced about again. “Very lovely, setting, too. I like the pond.”

“Thought you might,” Miles smirked, pleased with his choice. “Remember that dive you took me to when you were still in school?”

Alex hiccupped and choked on his beer, smiling at the memory as he wiped his mouth. “How could I forget?” He folded his napkin away and tilted his head to one side. “I thought you were gonna die when we had to share the tatami room with the ‘plebs’.”

Miles grinned and turned Alex’s hand again, this time pulling it towards him so he could rub his lips over the knuckles. “I’ve never slummed it for anyone but you, laa.” When Alex’s mouth began to turn down, Miles was quick to amend, “Me little diamond in the rough. That’s what you were. Plucked you out, gave you a shine.”

“The ‘rough’ you plucked me out of was _you_ r bar,” Alex reminded him.

The Scouser chuckled, planting a firm kiss on Alex’s hand. “Fair enough. Never thought I’d find it in me own bar, though: a treasure to call me own.”

“An’, you know,” Alex purred, circling back to Miles’ initial comment, “that sushi bar wasn’t so bad. You ate your weight in octopus.”

“I’ll admit, I’ve never had a better prepared cephalopod,” Miles winked.

Alex laughed and pulled his hand back to pick up his beer once more. He took a few sips, keeping his gaze on Miles as his veins warmed. He was as handsome as he had been that first time Alex had glimpsed him in the scummy mirror of the Bowery, his ears ringing from that punch that had glanced off of his jaw. Maybe he was even more handsome now, with a few years under his belt, and some tough experiences. There really was nothing like a challenge to shave off the roundness of youth and put angles in a man’s face. Miles’ frame was built to carry a suit effortlessly, and these days he’d let his hair grow a bit longer, still buzzed, but not to the bone. Blond touched his temples, and his face was tanned. The rise of a beard was new, but Alex couldn’t complain. It gave his lover character, not that he needed any help in that department.

Miles cleared his throat pointedly and gave Alex a salacious grin.

Blushing, Alex came back to the moment. “So, what did you have planned for the rest of the day?”

Miles shrugged, glancing up to the sky for a moment. “It’s a beautiful day. A walk on the beach?”

Alex leaned around the table and gazed at Miles’ footwear. “You sure you wanna ruin those Gucci?”

“I can leave em in the car,” Miles reasoned. “C’mon, you love the beach, babeh, I know you do. Let the wind ruffle up that hair outta that ridiculous quiff,” Miles added with a laugh.

Alex chewed his lip and sat back, reaching to his back pocket for his comb. He quickly slicked back the sides and fiddled with the top, his cheeks turning pink once more.

“Did you just...pull a comb like a greaser?” Miles asked.

“Maybe...I dunno...just...yeah, okay?” Alex muttered, feeling foolish.

“Aww, don’t fret, laa. I think you look real...what’s the word? Real boss.” He winked, and let his rapid chuckle fill the dining area. “Grease lightnin’, an’ all that.”

“Shut up,” Alex groaned, reaching for his sunglasses. “The beach, all right, let’s go-”

“Wait,” Miles said, gesturing to the table. “I haven’t even finished me beer. An’ I kinda...I got you somethin’,” he added with a boyish grin.

Alex’s chest tightened. _Another_ gift? Shifting around in his seat he watched as Miles nodded and then looked up and signaled to Cas, who waited at a table closer to the doors into the lounge. A few seconds later and Cas was at their table, handing Miles a wide, flat wooden box with a little brass latch on it. With another wave, he dismissed Cas, and then set the box on the table, the latch facing Alex.

“Mi?” Alex breathed, his fingertips reaching for the edge of the box.

“It’s a...well, it’s a token of how much you mean to me, Al. And of how much I trust ya. It’s a little more practical than a watch, or a necklace, I’ll admit,” he explained, his glance moving from the antique Omega on Alex’s wrist to linger on the platinum chain at Alex’s throat. He flicked his eyes back up to Alex’s.

The younger man’s hands were shaking as he ran his fingers over the lid and along the seams. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to know what was inside. Part of him was in awe; after all, Miles gave beautiful gifts to Alex, pieces worth thousands of dollars, if not hundreds of thousands of dollars. Cars, jewelry, clothes...his mind swam as Jamie’s words from Carpi suddenly crept up on him: _“When you first got together, did he give you a black eye before he gave you a watch, or was that a later addition? What’s he gonna buy you this time to smooth things over? A house?”_

“What is it?” Alex asked softly, looking back to Miles.

The older man’s face split with another beaming smile. “Open it, laa. Trust me, you’ll be surprised. But it’s necessary at this stage.”

Swallowing thickly, his heartbeat thin and rapid, Alex reached out once more and slowly lifted the lid of the box. Inside, nestled into black velvet, was a gun. He let out a small breath and quickly looked up, confused. “I don’t understand.”

Miles had to laugh. Christ, he was gorgeous, but when did he get so dense? With a shake of his head, Miles gestured towards the box as if it were obvious - and it was, for him at least. “What do you - what do you mean?” Miles sputtered, and gestured at the box. “It’s a gun, Alex.”

“I can see it’s a gun, Miles,” Alex returned. “Why did you get me a gun?”

There was trepidation in Alex’s voice, and Miles wasn’t so sure he liked the look of uncertainty flickering over Alex’s features. Everything up until this moment had gone smoothly, Miles was certain of it: the drive downtown, the lingering lunch with Alex’s favorite cuisine, the promise of a walk along the beach, practically an entire day devoted to spending time with Alex, and this was the result? 

“I think it’s quite obvious _why_.” He gauged Alex’s reaction, and when he was met with the same expression: dark brows knitted, eyes swimming with confusion, Miles shook his head and reached for the box. His long fingers swept over the sides of the weapon as he spoke once more. “This is a custom SIG, P226 X Five Short and Smart. Single-action trigger, 19-round mag…” Miles lifted the main body of the pistol from its cradle and turned it over in his hand, holding it out to Alex. “The body is shorter than mine, yeah? But it’s easier to handle. Weighs a little less. Custom inlaid grip, too, see?” Gripping the barrel, Miles turned the gun towards Alex, grip first, and gestured to the beechwood inlay. “Mahogany.” He looked up into Alex’s gaze. “To match your eyes, baby.” He grinned and sat back as Alex gingerly took hold of the gun and tested its weight. “Before we left for Capri I told you I was gonna teach you how to shoot. An’ I didn’t. Cook saw to it - don’t get me wrong, I don’t fault him, he’s proven to be an excellent shot. But Alex...I let you down, yeah?” He paused when his voice wavered, and he took a moment to collect himself. “That night that Homme died, baby, you took a beating for me. A beating you could have ended if you’d carried a piece. I wasn’t there for you. This is the next best thing.” He flashed a sincere smile as Alex’s eyes grew wide with emotion. “I’m protecting me investment, laa. Need you with me, always.”

Alex nodded as Miles spoke. He had to admit that holding a gun once more was a thrill he couldn’t quite describe. Miles’ reasons behind giving it to him were a display of emotion Alex hadn’t seen the size of in a very long time. Sure, there was anger, and frustration, and betrayal edging Miles’ moves lately, but now it was devotion. It was desire. It was protection and possession. Obsession. Love.

“D’ya like it?”

Alex blinked and looked up once more at Miles’ hopeful face. He felt himself nod. It wasn’t untrue; Alex did like the weight of the pistol, and the fact that it was his made his finger slide over the trigger with an experimental caress.

“Yeah, course you do, babeh,” Miles purred. “Too beautiful to not carry a piece. You’re deadly, baby, fatal attraction, I swear.” He winked and then leaned over the table, ignoring the gun in Alex’s hand to press his mouth to Alex’s. When he pulled back he was satisfied with Alex’s silence, and the pink burning in his cheeks. Not bothering to sit again, Miles grabbed his jacket and held his hand out to Alex. “Let’s take a walk.”

+

Jamie hadn’t been lying over beers in Sicily when he’d told Alex about how the diversions of youth followed you forever. In Jamie’s case, however, knowing how to a pick a lock had come in extremely handy both as a youth in Liverpool, and later on when he’d come stateside to live with his mother’s family and go to high school, and beyond. It also proved to be invaluable as a member of the DEA. He didn’t need much to open most conventional locks, and a few select tools to break into anything more substantial. Crouched in front of the door to Kane’s private office, Jamie swiftly opened the case of tools he kept tucked into his jacket pocket and chose two that seemed the most fitting. With a few precise movements, and a measure of patience, the lock softly clicked open after about forty seconds. Still on his haunches, Jamie slipped into the darkened office and closed the door behind him, locking it once more.

Flicking on a penlight, Jamie surveyed the immediate area, scanning the walls and furniture to get a lay of the land before he moved towards Mile’s desk - if it came down to it, he needed to know how to get out of the office with minimal sight available. When he reached the desk he stood smoothly and glanced down first to the seat he’d occupied weeks ago, and then to the floor. The mark was still there, dried and almost invisible to someone who wasn’t looking for clues.

Or for answers. 

Another inside pocket of his jacket contained a small manilla envelope, and tucked into that was a strip of fingerprint tape and an acetate backing card. A set of prepackaged nitrile gloves was there as well, and he tore this open and quickly pulled the gloves on. With his penlight between his teeth, Jamie crouched down once more and set to work. 

It proved a bit more difficult to lift the sample from the slate tile. In the end, he’d had to use the end of one of his pick tools to loosen the dried blood. It wasn’t ideal, but it was what he had on hand. He just needed a DNA match. He lifted the flakes with the tape, adhered them to the acetate card, and then dropped the sample into a small packet before tucking it into the manilla envelope. Ensuring that he didn’t leave anything behind, Jamie moved back to the door where he paused with his ear pressed to the wood. A quick glance downward showed there was no movement in the hall; he didn’t hear anything either. He slipped out of the office, thankful for once that Kane had adamantly refused to install cameras in the lower levels. Once cleared, Jamie moved down the hall and into the security room.

He wasn’t surprised to find the room empty save for the bank of monitors. With the blood sample tucked away safely, he dropped into the chair before the feeds and clicked around on the keyboard until he accessed all of the tapes from June sixth and seventh. He brought up the camera in the kitchen, the ones in the upper hallways both on the wing Alex and Miles shared and the one that Alex occupied solo, and the views over the front door and the open carports. Pulling a notebook from his jacket, he grabbed a pen and sat back to take notes on anything he could.

He set the kitchen feed and the upper wing feeds up to run first, noting nothing out of the ordinary with the former other than Homme moving in and out of the kitchen over an eight hour period, always with a drink in hand. The upper wings proved to be a loss as well, and as Jamie rolled the feed back to watch it once more with his undivided attention, he saw it: At about eleven am on June sixth, the camera on Alex’s wing suddenly swung around and Homme’s rage-filled face took up the entire screen. Homme’s mouth moved harshly as he stepped back and glared up into the camera, and then he stormed off. Pausing the feed, Jamie scrolled it back further to earlier that morning and caught an image of Alex at just before midnight on the fifth heading to bed, the camera clearing pointing at the door to the bedroom he occupied on his own. Jamie made a note of the time, and then sped forward, stopping once more when Alex appeared around four am. Bleary eyed, he approached the camera in the shadows and reached up, turning the camera until it was pointed down the other end of the hall - an almost exact view of the original position. He was hiding something. Where had he returned from that night?

Next, Jamie pulled up the feed from the camera over the front door and the one over the car ports. He found exactly what he was looking for at a time mark of 2:27 am: Helders was clearly visible as he moved from the side of the house to the carport, his arms full of a barely conscious Alex, lean limbs and dark hair both hanging limply as the ex-boxer struggled to move them towards a vehicle. He moved with nimble feet, aware of how delicate Alex’s state was, and something clutched in Jamie’s chest when he watched Helders pause and bend over Alex’s head, only to see Alex’s hand move and grasp Helder’s shoulder seconds later. They disappeared into the carport A few minutes passed and then Alex’s Jeep pulled out of the carport, moved down the drive and out of the gates, where it turned westbound, in the direction of the Marina Del Rey Hospital.

Jamie’s mouth went dry as he checked the timestamp on the feed, and cross referenced it with what he’d seen on the video Banhart had dug up. It was possible that Homme had spent up to two and half hours raping Alex numerous times. He felt himself go numb as he began to shake. Two and half fucking hours, and Helders had been the one to find him. But there was something more, something in the way Helders carried Alex, and in the way Alex clung to him that told Jamie perhaps he was going about trying to talk to Alex the wrong way. Alex didn’t want to hear how dangerous Kane was from a virtual stranger, no matter the connection they had - and they had one, Jamie was certain of it. He needed to go for the jugular, to slap Alex with reality, and the way to do that was to pull out the big guns: Jamie needed to plead his case to Helders.

+

He’d seen his fill over the last few hours, rolling through feed, looking for anything else he could use, but Jamie had a feeling he’d already seen enough. The only thing that would top the evidence he had was if he had a recording of the assault itself, and that thought made Jamie rub his tired eyes and lean back into his chair. Instead, he made notes, and kept an eye on the monitors that now showed real-time footage. It was close to four when Kane’s car rolled through the gates and up the front drive to stop at the front steps. Jamie watched Cas exit the vehicle and jog around to the back door on the passenger side and open it. A moment later and Kane emerged, and extended his hand back to Alex, who took it without question and allowed Kane to help him from the vehicle and pull him close with an arm around his narrow waist, and a hand curved against the small of his back. Kane leaned down to say something in Alex’s ear; the small man shook his head and appeared to laugh. Before they moved up the stairs Cas handed Kane a flat package, a box of some sort, and Kane gave Cas a few parting words before he and Alex ascended the stairs.

Jamie’s gaze flickered to the camera aimed at the front hall. Alex entered first, and Kane was quick to follow, his hands wrapping Alex’s hips from behind. Alex had barely been in the house for ten seconds and Kane was already crowding him against the wall, his dark head bent into the smaller man’s neck as Alex threw his head back and closed his eyes. Shifting in his seat, Jamie growled softly, feeling very much a voyeur as Kane pawed Alex. The blond was caught somewhere between arousal and disgust, and his fist tightened next to the keyboard as Kane upped the ante, and plucked the first few buttons of Alex’s shirt open. Alex was no slouch, either, clearly under Kane’s spell as he slid his boot-clad foot up the back of Kane’s slacks to hook behind his thigh. His message was clear enough. With the box he’d taken from Cas tucked securely under his arm, Kane pulled back from Alex’s neck and pulled the man off of the wall where he’d been pinned. He then turned them both through the front hall to the stairs that would lead to the bedroom.

What the fuck kind of bullshit had Kane spouted off on their lunch date, and the hours that followed? Frowning at the screen, Jamie folded his notebook closed and tucked it into his jacket pocket next to the blood sample. The latter was practically burning a hole in his chest, and as he looked back to the screen and watched Kane lure Alex towards their shared bedroom, he only hoped that he wouldn’t have to be the one to put Alex back together this time.

+

“Where you goin’, laa?” Miles’ hand slid around Alex’s midsection and pulled back when the younger man sat up on the edge of the bed.

Alex smiled at the purr in Miles’ voice and he laced his fingers with that of the older man, looking down where they splayed against his ribs. “I’m fookin’ hungry, Mi.”

“After that much sushi?” Miles laughed. “I’m not even sure there’s fish left in this part of the Pacific. An’ let’s not forget the gelato, hmm?” Miles’ fingers curled into Alex’s belly and he wiggled them. “Don’t want ya gettin’ soft on me, baby.”

Alex blew his hair from his eyes and nodded. “M’not gonna get fat, Mi,” Alex droned. “C’mon, that were...rigorous, aye?” He glanced over his shoulder at Miles and bounced his eyebrows up and down.

Miles laughed and rolled to his back, stretching his other arm out to reach his cigarettes on the stand next to the bed. “That it were, laa.” He lit a cigarette and puffed on it for a spell as he watched Alex stand and slip back into his black trunk boxers before plucking Miles’ dress shirt from the chair and slipping his arms into it. 

He turned and pushed a hand through his hair and pouted down at Miles, naked and sprawled. “You want anything?”

Miles cocked an eyebrow. “Besides you?”

Alex felt himself melt a little with the look Miles shot his way. “Yeah,” Alex murmured, the corner of his tongue poking out.

“You don’t look like you wanna snack,” Miles continued, sitting up and moving to stand at his chest of drawers. “You look like you wanna get fucked again.”

The younger man’s cheeks flamed and he looked away demurely.

“Don’t act coy with me, baby,” Miles chided, opening the top drawer. “You took my cock like you were born for it - you always do.” A soft, surprised breath left Alex’s lungs and he quickly looked back to Miles, who was still staring intently. “ An’ you want it again.” He smiled and turned his eyes to the drawer he’d opened, pulling out a shoulder holster. “C’mere,” he encouraged, motioning for Alex to stand before him. “I wanna see what this looks like.”

“Mi,” Alex pleaded. “Now?”

Taking another drag from his cigarette, Miles put the rest of it out in the ashtray on top of the dresser and then beckoned Alex with a finger. “Yes, laa, _now_. You gotta get used to it, aye? I don’t ever wanna see you outside of this house without it.”

Alex giggled. “But we’re _in_ the house right now,” he stated matter-of-factly. 

Miles’ answering grin was wry. “Humour me, then.”

Alex quirked an eyebrow, challenging Miles’ motives.

“You looking fookin’ sexy with a gun, laa, okay?” He admitted with a laugh. “Let’s get you into this rig an’ get you on your way to a snack. Cuz when you get back, I’m gonna get you _out_ of this rig, an’ have a snack of me own.”

“Oh my god, that was awful,” Alex laughed carelessly.

Miles shrugged. “What can I say? I’m not the best with words. But I am a man of action.” His eyes sparkled nefariously.

Alex licked his lips again and put his arms out to either side of him. “Put it on me, then.”

Miles unfolded the holster and moved into Alex’s space, slipping the shoulder band into place on his right shoulder, and fitting his left arm through the actual sling with the holster. Alex let Miles work, gazing up into Miles’ eyes. In exchange, Miles went entirely by feel, his eyes never leaving Alex’s, and soon enough he had the shoulder harness secured.

Alex could barely breath as Miles reached for the case that held the gun, and he watched as Miles opened it and held it out to Alex in offering. With an unsteady hand Alex lifted the gun from the depression in the velvet surrounding it and slid his finger along the trigger once more. Taking a breath he then slipped the piece into place in the holster, and took a breath as the weight settled.

“Born to wear it,” Miles grunted excitedly, his expression earnest. His hand cupped Alex’s hip and he pulled him forward, pushing his mouth to Alex’s in a solid, heated kiss. The fingers of Miles’ free hand wrapped into the longer strands of Alex’s hair and held him steady When he broke away Miles stepped back and studied his handiwork as he gnawed his bottom lip. “Hurry back,” he murmured.

Alex grinned, almost drunkenly, and turned on his heel to saunter out of the room.

+

After the first hour of glaring at the feed from the camera pointed at the door to Alex and Miles’ shared bedroom Jamie had grown restless and retreated to the pool house to compile reports with those of Valensi and Fab. Cas still wasn’t talking to him, something he’d have to rectify quickly if he was going to keep this facade together long enough to extract Alex. That was, if Alex could be reasoned with. Helders had been absent all day, and Fab had shrugged and muttered something about business downtown, and that Helders would be back by the morning. The excuse was flimsy at best, but Fab had added something about Zack needing some extra muscle, and really Jamie couldn’t fault him his choice of brute force. He’d have to make a point to set his alarm early enough to catch Helders before Kane was up for the day.

The sanctuary of the pool house was short lived, however, and Jamie soon found his attention snagged by the pool. Shrugging out of his work attire, he tugged on a pair of jeans and a snug, white Henley tee before stepping barefoot onto the patio. He circled the apron, glancing up to the overcrop on the grotto where the camera was aimed, and moved himself more or less into the same place Homme had occupied on the video he’d watched earlier. Then, he’d crouched down the same way Homme had, and gazed down into the pool. A glance back over his shoulder confirmed the position of a decorative light post. Once more, Jamie looked to the water.

An idea was forming when he was interrupted by a clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen. Standing smoothly, Jamie watched as Alex wandered through the kitchen, some song playing in his head by the way his feet shuffled and his hips swayed. The expression the younger man wore could only be described as dreamy, and Jamie watched stiffly as Alex proceeded to raid the fridge and pile a plate or two with various leftovers and contents from jars and containers. At one point, Alex even closed his eyes and swung his hands over his head, his lean body twisting to that internal melody. For a moment Jamie was in awe, and breathless, catching another glimpse of Alex he’d never seen before. 

_He laughed as Katie trotted through the kitchen in Barat’s Parisian flat. She’d been sent with a package to deliver, and Jamie had been her escort, and together they’d taken full advantage of the quick getaway. After she’d done the requested drop off, she and Jamie had spent the rest of the day getting drunk on Barat’s wine stash and making love on every surface of the apartment. Now, Jaime was leaned back next to the fridge watching as Katie danced barefoot wielding a piece of celery she was munching on, occasionally crooning along with radio that was blaring sixties Italian pop songs. His t shirt was huge on her, the neck dropping down one shoulder, and her waist length blonde hair was snarled and wild around her head from their afternoon. She turned, batting her eyelashes at Jamie and pursing her lips, silently asking for another kiss._

In the next moment, Alex his carelessly tossed his hair, and spun his back to Jamie. 

The obvious sling of a shoulder holster was stark against the dress shirt Alex had deemed suitable to shrug into, and it was a cold, sharp jab of reality to Jamie’s senses. He didn’t even think twice before he was across the patio and through the doors, storming into the kitchen. The sound of the screen rattling in the rails pulled Alex from his trance and he spun around to face Jamie, his feet faltering, and he caught the counter with an awkward giggle. When he realized that Jamie was staring at him with an unreadable expression, Alex frowned, and flicked his hair from his eyes before he continued making his snack.

“The fuck you doin’ prowlin’ round here,” Alex muttered, twisting open a jar of olives and pulling a few out with the tips of his fingers. He plopped them onto his plate and then licked his fingers clean of the brine.

“Putting pieces together,” Jamie murmured. He ignored Alex’s cocked eyebrow of confusion, and nodded to the holster Alex wore. “So, what, he got you a gun? I’m a little rusty on my symbolism; is that the three year anniversary gift, or the fourth year? Traditionally, that is.”

Alex cocked his jaw and set down the knife he was wielding before planting his hands on the counter. Angling his chin out, he challenged Jamie’s hard stare. “Aye. He bought me a gun, Jamie, cuz he wants me to be safe.” He shook his head and picked up the knife and the jar of fancy mustard, scraping some out to spread on a slice of rye. “Not that it’s any of your business, but he does care about me, been sayin’ it all along. He wants me to be safe.” Slathering another piece of bread, Alex then tossed the knife into the sink and brushed his hands off. “If he’s so intent on killing me, why the fook would he bother to get me a gun?”

Jamie hadn’t seen that coming, and his expression must have said as much.

Alex continued. “Guess you were wrong, eh? Don’t worry, Jameh, I won’t tell anyone.” He sneered and then tore open a package of deli meat and laid a few slices down on the bread.

Jamie recovered quickly. “That doesn’t prove anything other than the fact that he’s still controlling you. I mean, a gun, for fuck’s sake, Alex, who the fuck buys their lover a gun?”

“Perhaps I should have asked for a guitar?”

The blond narrowed his eyes. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Alex threw his hands up and finished jamming fillings onto the bread before topping it with another piece and plunking the sandwich onto a plate. “Nuffin’. It don’t mean owt, aye? Just...I’m so fucking sick of talking about this Jamie, you get that?” Flicking his hair from his eyes with a tick of his head, he fixed Jamie with a pointed stare. “I got me Miles back. Like, the Miles I’ve always known, the one I fell in love with.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Alex-” Jamie growled with a shake of his head.

“No, fuck _you_ , Jamie, okay?” Alex fired back. “He’s back, he’s mine. An - an’ he loves _me_ , get that through your head. He doesn’t _want_ to hurt me I joost...bring it on meself.” His voice dropped off, turned ragged, and he fingered the edge of a package of cheese. “Bring a lot of shit down on meself.”

“Alex?” Jamie ventured.

Alex smirked, disenchanted, and raised his gaze to Jamie’s. “Forget it.” Finding a suitable knife, he moved to cut his sandwich.

“You brought it up,” Jamie pointed out. “Still don’t feel like talking about it?”

“No, Jameh, I don’t fookin’ feel like talkin’ about it. It’s in the past. Let it stay there.”

Jamie frowned. He could have all the evidence in the world, but without Alex’s word on the subject, it was a lost cause. If Alex couldn’t admit that he’d been in danger that night with Homme - that he still _was_ every night he spent here, then Jamie’s efforts were in vain.

“It’s gonna eat you up eventually. That’s what happens when you put stuff in boxes and shove them aside instead of dealing with shit-”

The glare Alex leveled at Jamie made Jamie stop short, and Alex pointed the knife in his hand at Jamie as he spoke. “You using that shit you learned in school, Cook? Hmm? How to read someone? That’s what this is, right?” With another muttered curse he smiled ruefully down at the plate. “Yeah, think you’re somethin’ special, don’t ya? Gettin’ in me head. In me bed, too, by that measure.”

“That’s not-”

He began cleaning up the counter. “The other night I...I were desperate, right? You don't have to be so damn nice about it, Cook. Don’t act like you care. It were a mistake. I know that. But me head is on right now." Armed with the fixings from his sandwich he turned to the fridge and stuffed them in haphazardly and pulled out a pair of cans, Boddington’s by the label.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Jamie’s jaw tightened and he rounded the counter to keep his voice low as he spoke. “That - that night wasn’t just something that happened, something to pass the time, Alex, and you know it-”

“Stop it,” Alex snapped, his dark eyes hardening. “Just...fucking stop tellin me what I want or what I know, and what I don’t need or shouldn’t do. What I believe, or don’t believe. I’m done talkin’ bout it, and I’m done talkin’ bout it wiv you. I’m fine. Stop worrying about me, please.” He snagged the cans by their ring and then balanced the plate on the same hand before turning to leave the kitchen.

Jamie grabbed his elbow and turned him back to face him, and he stepped in close enough to see the dark amber flecks in Alex’s eyes, the freckles on the bridge of his nose, and the sharpness of his widow’s peak. Without his expressed consent, Jamie’s other hand reached to cup Alex’s cheek and he shook his head as his thumb swept over the angular cheekbone. 

“You’re so used to being someone’s prey, an’ you think that’s how everyone sees you. You think that no one can see you any other way.” Jamie swallowed down his emotion as his palm burned with the heat of Alex’s skin. He was very much aware of the way Alex’s eyelashes fluttered at the touch of his fingers. But I do, Alex, I see you for what you can be, for who you really are. You’re smart. You’re a survivor. You’re fookin’ tougher than any of these guys in this house, you know that? You’re not some fuckin’ field mouse waiting to be picked off by a vulture like Kane. You have to see it - you’re a fookin’ falcon, love.” 

Alex’s breath hitched at Jamie’s words, and his eye shone, but he refused to reply. Instead, he closed his eyes and slowly shook his head, his hand curling around the one Jamie cupped his face with. Slowly, he pried Jamie’s touch away and their hands fell, fingers still touching. “Mi’s waitin’,” Alex managed to choke out. He turned away from Jamie, and their grasp on one another severed as Alex disappeared down the hall.

+

Six months ago, if Alex had been asked would he be surprised to find himself sitting behind the wheel of a 1964 Aston Martin DB5 Convertible, Alex would have said no. If he had been asked six weeks ago, his tune would be very different. And yet, that’s exactly where he found himself late the next morning, whipping down the Pacific Coast Highway behind the wheel of a car James Bond would be jealous of. Beside him, Miles leaned back in the soft, cream-colored leather seat, tilting his face to the sun, encouraging Alex to, “Open ‘er up, laa, an’ let’s see what she can _really_ do!”

Alex grinned and threw the car into fourth, laughing as the engine roared and fired them along the asphalt. The wind was cool and crisp, the sun high, and for a while, he found himself without a care for anything beyond the man beside him. Miles hadn’t even been this ecstatic when they’d bought Alex’s Jeep, but then again a Jeep hardly compared to an Aston Martin.

When they pulled back into the lot at the private sale house, Alex couldn’t stop grinning, or chattering on about how amazing the drive was, or how well the car handled, or the fact that it was even better than 007’s car. The younger man lingered in the driver’s seat of the sleek, dusty blue convertible, his fingers wrapping and rewrapping the polished wood steering wheel, and sliding over the instruments on the dash. 

When the manager of the sale house approached, Miles barely moved a muscle, and merely tilted his head down and looked him in the eye. “How much?”

“Sir?” The manager blinked with an unsteady smile.

“Miles?” Alex asked softly, turning to look at his boyfriend with a raised eyebrow.

Miles cocked his head to one side and fixed the manager with a lengthy stare. “How. Much?”

“For the car?”

“Yeah,” Miles nodded.

The manager cleared his throat and glanced at Alex warily. “Perhaps we can discuss this inside? Somewhere a little more private?”

“The fuck you on about? You think this lad here is under the impression that I don’t have the cash?”

“No! No, not at all, Mr. Kane, it’s just rather sudden, and I need some time to draw up the papers-”

“ _How much_?” Miles growled over the manager’s anxious words.

The manager cleared his throat. “One million, nine hundred and seventy eight thousand, four hundred and eighty.”

Miles whistled lowly. “Wow,” he enunciated. A small giggle bubbled out of his lips and he glanced at Alex. “Holy shit, laa. You’ve got expensive taste.”

“ _Two million dollars_?” Alex squeaked, snatching his hands back from the steering wheel. “Are you serious?” He looked to the manager as he felt his face pale. “Miles, this is…”

Miles’ laughter intensified as he took in Alex’s perplexed expression. “Don’t worry about, baby,” Miles sighed, glancing back to the manager. “One point eight seven,” Miles offered.

The manager gave Miles a wry grin and reached for the handle on the passenger door. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Kane.”

“Don’t get your fuckin’ knickers in a twist, I’m testing the waters, aye? One point eight nine.”

“Mr Kane, we are rather busy this morning with much more...competitive offers.”

“Look - what’s your name?”

“Nigel, sir.”

“Right, Nigel. Look _Nigel_ , I don’t give a flying _fuck_ if the Duke of Cambridge and his gaggle of broads is coming in on a helicopter for tea in an hour. I’m interested in this car. Alex is interested in this car, and I’m a businessman who isn’t about to fork over a sticker price when I know for a fact that a left-hand drive DB5 goes for little more than what you’re asking me for this right-hand drive. Given the fact that it’s not a hard top, and that there are almost 57,000 kilometers on the odometer, not to mention a scratch in the steering wheel and a gouge out of the leather because some bird couldn’t keep her heels off of the damn dashboard,” and here Miles paused and rubbed what was almost an invisible scuff to the interior panel of the passenger door, “I think that an offer of one point eight nine is a perfect place to start kissing me arse.”

Nigel’s face reddened and he twisted his fingers around one another as he processed Miles’ speech.

“Everybody has their threshold, Nigel. Everybody has their breaking point. Cut the shit. Let’s talk numbers.” Miles knew that there was a floor to every sales transaction, and that no one ever paid the first price offered. It was the way of the business world, it always had been, right from the time of bartering chickens and bushels of corn.

Nigel blew out a breath, but refused to look away from Miles’ hard stare. “One point nine seven five.”

Miles contemplated this, digging the edge of his nail along the scuff in the leather. “One point nine two.”

Alex was fairly certain he heard Nigel growl before he counter-offered, “One point nine seven.”

“Stop nickel and diming me, Nigel,” Miles chided. “One point nine two five.”

“Did I mention this is a custom colour paint job?”

“Actually, Nigel” Alex piped up. “It isn’t. This is Nautical Blue, a fairly standard colour for this model at the time. Other than silver, it’s the most common. Were it red, or perhaps even white or hunter green, maybe you could use that little ‘custom paint job’ quip.” He grinned broadly, and glanced at Miles who was beaming.

Nigel sputtered and huffed, and glared at both Alex and Miles. “You two are going to put me out of a job,” he groused.

“Well maybe Alex should be doing your job,” Miles snapped back, pinning Nigel with his stare once more.

With another sharp breath Nigel’s jaw tightened. “One million, nine hundred and fifty five thousand.”

“Fourty-five thousand,” Miles quickly shot back with a smug expression.

“Take the shirt off of my back at the same time, why don’t you,” Nigel groused, turning on his heel. “I need to make a call,” he shouted back, marching across the gravel drive towards the sales room and his office.

“See?” Miles grinned and looked at Alex. “Just a little leverage, a little knowledge, to understand the weak spots and how to exploit them, Alex. Pay attention, love.” He looked back to Nigel as he trudged into the sales office, and grinned wolfishly. “Now we’re making progress.”

+

“The Gucci, definitely, both colours. The Varvatos, the Boss in that linen blend, and the dinner jacket, too. No, the navy one.”

Lounging on a chaise in a shop on Melrose, Alex sipped the last of his gin and tonic, and watched as Miles made decisions on the clothing Alex had just tried on. God, it was just like old times, like when he’d first come to Miles straight from the university and Miles had wrinkled his nose at Alex’s tattered jeans and broken in polo shirts. They’d gone on a spree that day, not unlike the one they were on right now. Still riding high from the fact he was now the proud owner of an Aston Martin, Alex sighed contentedly for the first time in months.

Miles must have heard him, because he turned his head, pausing in the middle of choosing between Prada belts, and smiled broadly at Alex. “Knackered, baby?” he asked, leaving the pile of clothes that was accumulating and moving to where Alex was now sitting up.

“A bit, I suppose,” Alex shrugged. He glanced around the store and then found Miles’ eyes once more. “Are we done? Can we go back to the house?”

Miles shook his head fondly at Alex. “You sound almost put out by the fact I’m spoiling you,” he said. “I thought you’d be excited.”

Alex’s eyes widened and he shook his head hastily. “I am - I really am, Miles, I’m just...blown away, a little. I mean...the car, the clothes, an’ yesterday, it’s all...it’s a little overwhelming.”

“Hmm,” Miles hummed smugly. “That’s what you said when we first got together. An’ you got the hang of it, didn’t you, laa?” He reached and brushed Alex’s hair from his forehead and cupped the younger man’s face. “This is me making up for lost time. I told you that. Let me do this, okay?”

Worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, Alex nodded.

“Almost done, love,” Miles conceded. “Why don’t you go through, see if there’s anything else that catches your eye, hmm? This will take them a moment to ring up.”

On a whim, Alex leaned and brushed his lips over Miles’ cheek, and then he turned and sauntered away towards the back of the store. He could feel Miles’ gaze on him, not unwelcome, but perhaps a little foreign. Last week Miles’ eyes had dragged at him like shackles, made him cower, made him feel weak. Today, though...these last few days...Alex shook the thought off, remembering what Miles had said the night before:

_“That ain’t me, babeh, you know that. I’m no brute. That’s all behind me. Behind **us**.”_

He rifled through the racks for a spell, until he felt Miles’ hand wrap his hip, long fingers dipping into the front pocket of his snug, designer jeans. The Scouser chuckled smoothly as he reached over Alex’s shoulder with his other hand and plucked a very turquoise suit from the rack.

“Parakeet blue,” he read off the tag. “What do you think?” he murmured, dropping his lips to the side of Alex’s neck.

Alex laughed and shook his head. “Oh, _fuck no_ , Mi. Please.” While it was true that the majority of the things Miles had picked out were shades of grey and varying degrees of black, this particular shade of turquoise was a far cry from the navy of the dinner jacket.

Miles giggled softly. “All right,” he said, hanging the suit back in place. He moved a few more items aside and pulled another hanger from the rack. “This one?”

Alex wrinkled his nose and shook with laughter, forcing Miles to hang it back up. “It’s...it’s _mustard_ yellow, Mi. That’s terrible.”

“I dunno, it might look great on that arse,” Miles sang, pressing his nose behind Alex’s ear.

Alex smiled absently as he flung hangers along the rod. A flash of colour caught his eye, nothing too bright, but definitely not black or grey. “These ones,” he said, holding the slacks out for Miles to see.

Tightening his grip on Alex’s hip, Miles growled his approval. “Go an’ try em, tiger,” he muttered, before giving Alex a little shove towards the dressing room.

+

The result took Alex’s breath away. Standing in the spacious dressing room before the floor-to-ceiling mirror, he rolled back the cuffs of the slim-fit black button down the sales associate had brought him, and turned to one side, and then the other. The slacks he’d chosen, a dark, drunken plum colour, fit him like a glove. They were slightly higher waisted than anything else he’d tried on, and he marveled at how they hugged the curve of his lower back. Turning back to the mirror head on he swept his palms over the sides of his hair. Then he cocked his hip and pulled a pouty scowl.

He liked it.

It was dark, and a little mysterious, and very much not like the clothes hanging in his closet back home. Those soft gray suits and broken-in button downs, the linen and the silk had been chosen and tailored for an Alex that no longer existed. _This_ was the Alex he wanted, the one in the mirror, the one with the glare, the one that was loved and adored by the man restlessly waiting outside the fitting room door.

“Al, c’mon,” Miles droned. “Thought you were gettin’ tired?”

Alex grinned and stepped into the python-textured St Laurent boots and strutted to the door. He whipped it open, and the sudden movement caused Miles to stir, and then stare long and hard.

For agonizing seconds, Miles was silent, his eyes sweeping Alex from tip to toe and then back up.

“Mi?” Alex asked softly. When he still didn’t get a word of reply, Alex sighed, a little defeated. “You don’t like it?”

Miles quirked an eyebrow and nodded, his mouth open almost lewdly. “Oh no,” he breathed, his eyes hot with desire. “I reckon I love it, baby.” His voice thickened one his next statement, “But you better get your arse in the car before we give these blokes a show.”

+

Propped on his side in the rumpled bedsheets, Miles rested his head in his hand and gazed at Alex’s profile. It had been ages since he’d done this and he recalled all the reasons why this was one of his favorite activities, but they all boiled down to one simple fact: Alex was gorgeous. Miles remembered that first morning when he’d come up to that room to find Alex delightfully disheveled and practically swallowed by the clouds of pillows and duvets. Like an angel, really, the California sun creating a halo around his chestnut head, and pulling at the rich depths of his dark eyes. Presently, however, in the cover of night, with only the lamps lit low, Alex was a play in shadows and angles, gaunt cheeks, sharp cheekbones, regal nose, dangerous jaw. Still as gorgeous as ever, but with an edge he hadn’t realized was being honed.

Twisting around for a moment, Miles dug through the drawer of his bedside table, coming up with all the trimmings to roll a proper joint. As he worked, he let his thoughts wander, most of them about Alex. That morning at the private sale house had been a surprise, and a refreshing one at that. Alex’s sudden play into the sale had brought Miles’ interest to the fore; he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been turned on watching Alex put Nigel in his place. And he done it with such finesse, too, that Miles was hard pressed to believe that Nigel hadn’t enjoyed the dressing down as well. 

Alex’s face had lit up when Miles handed him the keys, and it had been a while since Miles had seen that smile bloom on Alex’s face. Alex had driven both of them down Melrose as directed by Miles, to end up at Brick and Mortar on their private sales floor. Miles hadn’t missed how Alex shied away from the softer fabrics, the lighter colours - it wasn’t just seasonal, Miles knew that much. That angel he’d fallen for had a bit of the devil in him, perhaps had fallen for Miles in the process, and when Alex had opened that door to reveal his last chosen outfit, Miles had almost choked on his tongue. Those few seconds, face to face with a version of Alex he wasn’t sure he understood, Miles panicked, and knew he had to turn the tide to his favour for good.

Hence the hasty retreat back to the house. 

Satisfied with the job he’d done on his nightcap, Miles settled down on his side once more, the hand cupping his head also holding the joint between two fingers. Beside him, Alex stirred and made a small, sleepy moan as he turned to his side to face Miles, his hand absently reaching across the sheets. Smiling softly, Miles walked his fingers over the back of Alex’s hand and then he curled them in, stroking the skin of Alex’s arm with the backs of his fingers. Then, he reached and pushed a longer strand of hair behind Alex’s ear, causing the younger man to hum and smile sleepily.

“You’re starin’,” Alex murmured, not bothering to open his eyes.

“Yeah, I am,” Miles softly replied.

Alex hummed again and his eyelashes fluttered. When he finally opened his eyes, he gave Miles a small smile. “Hey.”

This time, Miles didn’t bother to reply, he merely continued to trace his fingers over Alex’s features, his eyes committing each line into memory.

“Wot?” Alex whispered, cocking an eyebrow.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, laa,” the older man slowly began. His hand curled into Alex’s hair and then his fingers drew down the side of his pale neck. “I can’t stop staring at ya, or touchin’ ya - I don’t want to, not for a second.” He paused as Alex gently drew the unlit joint from the fingers and sat up, reaching for the lighter that rested between them. He watched, a little mesmerized as Alex lit the joint and took a few hits before passing it to Miles.

“Why would you have to?” Alex breathed, exhaling smoke and smiling dreamily. “Stop starin’, I mean?”

Miles took a few drags of his own and then moved around to find an ashtray on the ledge that ran the perimeter of the room, and served as a built in shelf. Setting it down and resting the joint there, he tilted his head at Alex. “I dunno, laa. Sometimes...sometimes it’s like you’re not even here. It’s kinda always been like that, really.”

Alex chuckled, albeit confusedly, and reached for the joint once more. “Oh - okay?” He giggled. “I mean, I’m a bit of a space cadet, I suppose, but it’s not like this helps or anythin’,” and he held up the joint for emphasis.

Miles shook his head and reached for the burning thing, taking another slow drag before he tamped it out. Alex made a small sound of protest and pouted, but Miles paid no mind. Instead he exhaled, and explained. “I mean that sometimes it feels like I’m gonna wake up alone one day.”

“Mi,” Alex softly admonished. “Where am I…” Did Miles know? Did he somehow know all of the things Jamie had said early? He couldn’t know, surely. That was impossible. Alex shook his head. “That’s...ridiculous. Where am I gonna go?” He watched Miles closely.

Miles giggled and shrugged. “That’s just it, innit, laa? Where _would_ ya go?” Shaking his head, Miles waved at the air between them. “It’s silly, it really is. You can’t leave me. I can’t imagine what that would be like. You an’ me, Al, that’s what this is.” He paused and stared into Alex’s eyes. “You get that, right? I can’t do this without you, baby, an’ I know I haven’t always shown you that. But I mean it. It’s you an’ me against the world, always has been, always has to be. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, Miles, I know,” Alex nodded, his voice sincere. He watched as Miles rose from the bed, naked, and wandered around the room restlessly.

“You’re...you’re on _my_ side, right Alex?” He paused and the expression on his face was almost concerned. “Like...if it came down to it, if you had to choose, me, or some other way, you’d choose me, wouldn’t you?” 

“Miles? Where is this coming from?” Alex’s tone was cautious, and watched Miles sift through their clothing until he found Alex’s shoulder holster. “Miles?” He asked again.

Miles smiled to himself and pulled Alex’s gun from the holster, dropping the latter. When the SIG was cocked, Alex stood slowly from the mattress, just as naked as Miles, and shuffled over the carpet. Suddenly, the pistol flashed out, and Alex froze as he came face to face with the barrell, no more than half a foot away.

“Miles,” Alex said shakily, his hands coming up in automatic surrender, “it’s okay. It’s okay, babeh, yeah? I know, I’m wiv you. I’m always wiv you.”

Flashing another grin, Miles chuckled. “Would you even believe how crazy you make me, baby?” He whispered. “How you drive me fuckin’ insane most days?” He gave another helpless laugh and then suddenly turned the gun on himself.

“Jesus, _fuck_ , Miles, what are you doing?” Alex hissed, his eyes going wide with fear. Despite the danger, he stepped closer, his heart pounding madly.

“If you could see yourself, Alex, see what you mean to me...I want you, baby, I want you all the fucking time,” he muttered. “All the fucking time, I’m obsessed, I swear, Alex, I can’t get you outta my head, outta me system, do you _know_ what the _fuck_ I’m talking about?” Miles’ voice rose in volume, the words tense, and laced with manic terror. “I’d fuckin’ kill meself, babeh, no world of a lie. So you get it, you get why you can’t leave me, why it’s just you an’ me, yeah? Are you with me, Alex?”

Alex nodded hastily, the tension in Miles body and voice making him helpless. “Yes - yes, Miles, I get it. I’d never leave you, I know you love me, and I love you.” He inched closer, holding Miles’ gaze with his as his hand reached for the gun. “You don’t gotta prove this, babeh, I know. I know now, I understand.” He swallowed thickly as tears pricked his eyes. “I understand. I love you.”

The hand Miles held the gun with dropped, and suddenly Alex was the one wielding it, pointing it at Miles who stared, fascinated with the sight. “Could you do it, baby? Could you pull the trigger? I can’t think of a better way to go, laa.”

_“God, it’d be a pleasure to die at your hands.”_

Alex began to shake, and as his grip loosened, Miles swooped in to catch the pistol. Laughing, he held it up for Alex to see, his thumb tapping the safety. “Gotta take the safety off first, laa.” He winked then and set the gun down on the dresser next to him. “Fuck, Alex, I know you’re one of the good ones, babeh.” Gathering Alex into his arms, he tightened his hold on the quaking frame. With his lips to Alex’s ear, he stroked a hand over his hair. “Shh. I know that. I picked you out, I know quality, I know you.”

Numbly, Alex nodded, his hands wrapping Miles’ shoulders as Miles stood back.

“I’ll take care of you,” Miles whispered, his words melting into a kiss. His hands slid to Alex’s neck, holding him steady, and he smiled as he felt Alex’s body respond as if by instinct, hardness pressing into his thigh. “I’m the only one, you know that.”

Alex nodded again. “You’re the only one,” he agreed, his hands cupping Miles’ face almost too tightly. “The only one.” The kiss he pushed to Miles’ mouth was hard, almost frenzied.

Miles broke it a few seconds later, and held Alex at arm’s length studying him. “Good boy,” 

Gently, Miles led them back to the bed, where he pulled the sheets back and settled Alex on his back. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry, but I had to be sure,” he sighed, wiping Alex’s tears away with his thumbs. Miles kissed him softly, growling as Alex deepened the kiss and turned it rough, and frantic. Holding Alex’s wrists down to the mattress, he moved between those firm thighs. “The only way one of us is leaving the other is together, baby.” 

Alex nodded, his eyes slipping shut as he succumbed to Miles’ oath. “Please,” he whispered. “Inside...need you inside o’me.”

With a groan, Miles obliged, and this time paused to make sure they were both slick and on edge. “Look at me,” Miles asked thickly. Holding himself steady at Alex’s opening, he nudged, prodded, teasing Alex until the younger man squirmed and pushed his hips towards Miles.

“Miles!” he gasped.

“Alex, look at me,” Miles repeated, his other hand moving to cup Alex’s face.

Alex’s eyes flew open. “Now, please, I-” Anything else he could have said died on his tongue as Miles slowly filled him.

Sinking to the hilt, Miles groaned and leaned down, setting his curving lips against Alex’s ears once more: “Til’ death do us part, baby.”

+


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's those early morning convos with people that get you over the roadblock. Thanks, Gogo <3

“You’re back.”

Helders looked up from the morning paper spread on the counter next to his coffee, and gave Alex a tired smile. “Yeah. Got in early this morning. Zack had a meeting with another client first thing so we took the red eye.” 

Alex nodded soundlessly and moved to the fridge where he clamoured around inside for a spell. When he closed the door he had a small smile on his face, and his eyes were faraway.

“You all right?” Helders asked, watching as Alex moved from the fridge to the cupboard and set about preparing himself a bowl of cereal.

“Hmm?” Alex blinked and looked to Helders. “M’fine, yeah, Matthew.”

Helders frowned. He hadn’t seen Alex like this since...well, he wasn’t sure if he’d _ever_ seen Alex like this: dreamy, lost in his own world, smiling in a way that actually touched the corner of his eyes. Maybe once, a long time ago, within those first few months Alex had spent with Miles he might have been a little giddy but this was beyond that.

“You high?” The ex-boxer ventured before taking a sip of his coffee.

For a moment, Alex merely watched the cereal pour from box to bowl, the gentle sound filling the dead air in the kitchen. Setting the box down he placed his hands on the counter and let out a huff of disbelief. “No, Matthew,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “M’not high.”

“So what’s-”

“Morning, love.” Miles sailed into the kitchen, cutting off Helders’ inquiry, but effectively answering it in the next second: the Scouser moved behind Alex, slid his hands around the smaller man’s hips, and rested his chin in the crook of his neck and shoulder. “Sleep well?” he murmured.

Alex giggled and shivered at the way Miles’ words sailed over his neck. “When you let me sleep, yeah.”

Helders watched the strange interaction with a wary eye. The last time he’d seen Alex and Miles together, Miles was about two seconds away from painting another bruise on the canvas of Alex’s skin. Now, it seemed like they couldn’t stand to be apart. Cocking his head, Helders scowled as Miles poured milk for Alex, and landed a soft kiss on the man’s upturned face, before he turned and regarded Helders.

“You’re back.”

Helders nodded at the identical greeting Miles gave. “Aye. Yes, Sir, got in this morning.”

“And how did everything go?”

Helders closed his newspaper and gave a perfunctory nod. “Went well. Went smoothly. Zack’s got a good head for business - a little more relaxed when it comes to cutting deals, but these guys really warmed up to him. Cracked a few jokes, brought in a case of Hennessy… He’s a crowd pleaser.”

Miles nodded as Helder spoke, and when he was done he replied, “Well. That’s good to hear. I’ve got a few things coming up this week, and I can’t handle them all on me own. I need you an’ Zack to pick up what Alex an’ I can’t cover.”

Helders blinked. “You an’...Alex?”

Alex whirled at the sound of his name. “Babeh? What are you talking about?”

Miles threw a wink over his shoulder at Alex. “It’s like we talked about last night, laa. Shouldn’t come as a surprise. I told you: want you wiv me every step of the way. You an’ me, like it’s always been.”

“Miles, I...do you suppose I’m ready for that?” Alex hesitated.

Miles waved his concern away. “You’ll be top notch. Trust me, yeah? Daddy knows what his baby is capable of.”

Alex blushed and bit at his lip, and stole a glance of Helders.

The man’s jaw ticked. “You’ll need muscle,” he pointed out.

“I’ve got Cas,” Miles shrugged, looking back to Helders. “It’s under control, mate. He knows these guys, right? An’ they know him-”

“The guys you’re sending Zack and I to deal wiv - they don’t know either of us from a hole in the wall-”

Miles’ sharp stare stopped Helders’ words. “You questioning me, Helders?”

Helders took a breath to steady himself. “No, Sir,” he replied, albeit sullenly.

“I should think not,” Miles snapped. “Don’t act so put out. If Cas is gonna be here for the long haul, I need him to know how I do business. You’re old hat, mate, you know my ways. An’ I need someone I can trust to keep an eye on Zack.”

“Zack’s not someone you need to worry about, Mr. Kane,” Helders muttered.

Miles snapped his fingers, the sound like a shotgun going off in the kitchen. “I make the calls around here, yeah? This is _my_ fookin’ show, Helders. Don’t go growin’ a brain on me now. Christ, I dinnit hire you as a judge of character, I hired you to take care of shit when shit needs to be taken care of. M’not about to send Zack out with no one to watch his back. I happen to like the man, despite his whimsy, and his distaste for socks or proper footwear. I don’t need anythin’ happenin’ to him when I’m not around. Your job is to watch his ass, and make sure he doesn’t fuck up or _get_ fucked up, understand?”

Helders nodded stiffly. “Yes, Sir.”

“Right, then. I’ve got a meeting downtown over lunch. Cas will be escorting myself and Alex. Fab is on watch here; Valensi and Cook are in checking out a rental a little ways down and installing a backbone security system. Barat and his entourage will be here by the end of this week.”

Helders blinked at the news, a little taken aback that this was the first he’d heard of Barat’s arrival. “And me?” Helders asked.

“Take the day. Rest up. Don’t worry about it.”

“Mr. Kane-”

“It’s handled, Helders. That’s all you need to know.” Miles smiled and then turned to Alex, dropping another kiss on his cheek. “We’re leaving at noon; lunch is at one.”

Alex nodded, cradling his bowl to his chest with a wistful smile. “I’ll be ready.” He watched Miles leave and then looked to Helders. “I’m...sorry about Miles. He’s…”

“In a rather good mood, ain’t he?” Helders replied a little too lightly. “Don’t wanna spoil that, never know when it’s gonna shift.”

“Matthew, I didn’t know he were gonna...I mean, Cas came with us the last few days, but I thought it were just because you were with Zack.”

Helders fought the urge to ask Alex about the last few days. It wasn’t his job to know; if he was supposed to know, Alex would tell him. Instead he nodded and moved to toss the rest of his coffee down the sink.

“An’ he’s right, you know,” Alex went on. “About you being wiv Zack?” He moved towards Helders. “ _I’m_ glad you’re watching his arse. He’s me mate.”

“Yeah,” Helders nodded. “Yeah, know, Alex. That’s why I went in the first place. I didn’t like the idea of leaving you here but-”

The smaller man shook his head, and his smile was almost blinding. “You don’t need to worry about me like that anymore, Matthew. I’m fine. Miles an’ I...we’re fine. Better than.” He let go of a breath and smiled again.

Something didn’t seem right. It was niggling at the back of his mind. It was like a charade, really: Alex smiling, and melting into Miles’ embrace, Miles choosing Cas over his own skill set, taking the day off...Alex going to a business meeting with Miles? Helders had been gone for just under forty-eight hours. What the hell could have happened in that time? Looking down, he noticed his hands had turned to fists, and they were trembling slightly. With an uttered curse, Helders dropped his cup into the dishwasher and made his way to his room to gather his gym gear. Only one thing was going to work this sudden edge of anger from his system.

+

Valensi whistled lowly as he surveyed the open air foyer of the three-level beach house. “Whaddya think?”

Jamie glanced up and then around the immediate area. “Bit much, don’t you think?”

“And totally Barat’s style,” Valensi continued. “Always thought it a bit strange that ole Carlos hates hotels but...can’t blame him, I guess. Sleeping on someone else’s sheets an’ all that.”

“Doesn’t he just bring his own, anyway?”

“Yeah,” Valensi laughed. “He does do that.” He trailed off and glanced about the points of entry. “This could be a bit difficult to wire for a backbone system. Lots of access points and blind spots.”

Jamie hummed in agreement just as his phone began to vibrate in his jacket pocket. It was a text from an unknown number, but the message was clearly understood: _**Match positive.**_ The news settled heavily on his shoulders and he bit the inside of his cheek to maintain composure. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected other than that answer; the packet containing the blood sample he’d lifted off of Kane’s office floor had been neatly dropped into an unassuming mailbox up the strip near the shopping district when Jamie had gone out for a jog the evening before. When he’d returned, Kane and Alex were already home and locked away upstairs. He’d gotten his orders to scope out Barat’s temporary house from Valensi that morning, and the two of them had set off well before noon.

“It’d be easier if we had a third person here so we could see the vantage points,” Jamie murmured, moving across the foyer again. “Where’s Cas?”

“With Kane. Oh, and get this: Kane’s got Turner at his side like some sort of junior businessman.”

“He _what_?” Jamie snapped, crossing the floor towards Valensi.

“Took Turner with him, I dunno,” Valensi shrugged. “Kid’s kind of a pansy, if you ask me, probably more scared of his shadow than anything.” Valensi took a few photos of the staircase and the front entry.

Jamie shook his head. Valensi, of course, had it all wrong. If anything, Alex was very much aware of everything that went on around him. “I guess with Helders gone, Kane had to take Cas,” Jamie said.

“Nah, Helders is already back. Flew in this morning.”

“Helders is back? Why the fuck is Cas with Kane, then?”

Valensi shrugged again. “Told Helders to take the day. He’s probably down at the gym.”

“What gym?”

“What does it matter?”

Jamie gestured to the foyer with an impatient flip of his hand. “Because we could use the help. Did he say which gym?”

“No,” Valensi replied sullenly. “But, ah...his bag? Said ‘CMC ProBoxing Venice’. So, I’m guessing that’s where he is.”

“Right,” Jamie muttered, pulling up his phone and punching the name into his maps app. A few seconds later an a pin appeared, not even a ten minute drive from where Jaime was currently standing. If he’d known Helders had arrived early that morning, he would have taken a chance then to talk, to lay his case for Alex. He didn’t know if he’d have another chance to speak openly without prying ears or eyes. 

“I need you stay put,” Jamie started as he headed for the door. “The team from the security company is supposed to be here by noon. I should be back by then.” 

“What? Cook?” Valensi watched Jamie leave, and he heaved a sigh of frustration. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he uttered, dropping to the steps. 

+

As displayed on Google Maps, the drive was quick, and it gave Jamie just enough time to try and devise a plan of attack. The fact that Valensi knew where Helders was told Jamie why he was most likely there. Helders had been snubbed by Kane several times as of late; playing second fiddle to Cas probably did not sit well with the ex-boxer. That was good; Cook needed him angry. And with Alex now stepping up to the plate, Jamie knew instinctively that Helders would be more than upset. As he parked the car he thought back to the feed that showed Helders carrying Alex out to the car on that night he was assaulted by Homme. Often almost too stoic for his own good, Helders was now emotionally compromised, and probably more than a little motivated. 

The boxing club was a private one, very exclusive, and Jamie was stopped at the front office by a slight looking fellow with dark hair and an open expression. After a round of questioning, and Jamie’s succinct answers paired with his no-nonsense scowl, the gym manager frowned and told Jamie to wait before he turned and moved through the glass double doors. Jamie watched as the manager wove around the patrons, pausing to talk to a few who then directed him towards the back of the gym. A few minutes later and the manager reappeared in front of Jamie, holding the door open for him.

“He’s in the middle of a session, doesn’t want to be interrupted. But he said you’re welcome to wait.” He then gestured for Jamie to follow him. 

Helders was hammering away at the heavy bag, circling and blocking between the jabs and the hooks. From the sidelines, his trainer barked orders and encouragement, that spurred Helders into action with even more gusto, causing the bag to swing. The chain it was suspended from clanked rhythmically, echoing with the beat of Helders’ gloves against the canvas, the dull _thud-thud_ of impact, and the squeak of shoes on hardwood.

A timer beeped about twenty seconds later and Helders paused, stepping back and breathing deeply. Looking up at Jamie, he took the water bottle handed to him by his trainer and then dismissed him, and slung an arm over the bag as he took a few gulps. When he’d settled, he nodded towards Jamie.

“Must be pretty important for you to track me down here.” He swiped at the sweat on his brow.

“It is,” Jamie nodded.

Helders frowned. “You know...you act more like a cop than a bodyguard for an arms dealer,” he pointed out. “But you haven’t got a lick of common sense when it comes to keeping out of trouble.”

Jamie sighed and glanced to the ring where a pair of boxers bounced around, throwing practice punches. “You’re pretty good,” he said, swinging his gaze back to Helders. “Really good. Think you could have made a play for a title?”

Helders sniffed and took another swig of water before pushing off the bag and heading to the bench where his towel was slung. “You didn’t come here to jaw about my failed career,” he said. “What’s this about?”

“Can we talk?”

Helders gestured to the space between them. “The fuck are we doing right now?”

“In private?”

“Look, man, anythin’ you gotta say to me you can say right here, all right? Ain’t nobody here who cares about what I do, or what you do. Hurry up. I’ve got another session in three minutes.”

Jamie watched Helders closely as he delivered his next line, “It’s about Alex.”

Sure enough, Helders’ jaw ticked and he craned his head to one side before rubbing a hand over his mouth. “What about him?”

“Where is he right now?”

With a dismissive sound, Helders flung an arm towards the door. “Dunno, out with Mr. Kane I suppose.”

“Why aren’t you with him?”

For a moment, Jamie wasn’t sure what Helders’ might do, and in fact, he realized he’d always found Helders hard to read at any given moment, except for where Alex was concerned. Still, he waited, watching as Helders looked down at his wrapped hands and shrug.

“Cuz Cas is. I thought you said this were about Alex.”

“Look, last week you said it yourself: you don’t trust Cas. I don’t either. And now he’s out watching Kane’s back, and Alex’s, too. Aren’t you concerned with that?”

“There’s a lot of things I’m concerned about that don’t concern you,” Helders growled. “This about you, Cook? About your ego? Your feelings for Turner?”

Jamie shook his head and opened his mouth to reply, but Helders was talking again.

“Don’t fookin’ act like he ain’t on your radar.”

Switching tactics, Jamie took a step towards Helders. “Why does that bother you? Surely you must be used to people taking a liking to Alex.”

“And it always ends badly,” Helders snapped back.

“You don’t care what happens to me,” Jamie reasoned with a wry grin.

Helders moved into Jamie’s space and dug his pointer finger into the blond’s chest. “You’re right, I don’t. I don’t fucking care if Kane strings you up by your bloody toenails, shoots rusty bullets into your back, an’ leaves you to rot. But I do care about Alex.”

And there it was. Jamie was an only child, didn’t know about sibling companionship, but O’Malley had a younger brother, Adam, and the bond between them was sacred. O’Malley was the protector, always watching out for Adam, and it wasn’t unlike the way Helders did the same for Alex.

“So help him.”

Dropping his hand, Helders snorted, and shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Picking up his towel and his bottle from the bench, he began making his way to the speed bag on the opposite side of the sparring ring.

Jamie trudged after him. “You and I both know that Kane is going off the rails. He’s barely hanging on, and with Alex within striking distance...you saw him in Capri. You saw him on Barat’s boat.” On a whim he reached out and put a hand on Helders’ shoulder, yanking him around so that they could see each other face to face. Jamie leaned in and dropped his voice to a growl. “Hell, you saw him last week ago when his face was fucked up and Miles acted like it were the most natural thing in the world.”

Shaking out of Jamie’s hold, Helders narrowed his eyes as he processed Jamie’s words. Without replying, he tossed his gear to the bench and positioned himself in front of the bag. He then began a steady progression of strikes, finding his rhythm straight away.

Jamie continued. “He’s not gonna stop, you get that?” Jamie moved to stand at Helders’ shoulder, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the the rattle and thump of the bag. “If Alex doesn’t get out, Kane’s gonna kill him. It’s only a matter of time. I know you care about him, Helders. I know you feel responsible for whatever happened while Kane was recovering-”

Helders’ fists faltered on the bag and he stopped, and turned his steely gaze on Jamie. “You don’t know anything about that,” he growled.

It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt out just exactly what he knew, but Jamie merely took a breath and replied, “But you do. You know. You know better than anyone what he’s been through. If Kane is going off the rails, then Alex is barely hanging on by a thread. He needs to get as far away from Kane as he possibly can. And you’re the only one he’s going to listen to.”

+

Paul Thomson was a diminutive Scotsman, born and raised in Glasgow to a ship-builder father and a schoolteacher mother. All through his childhood he’d been teased for his height, and his scrawny bones, something that spurred him to join the wrestling team in junior high, and after that, the local boxing club. Always the joke of the ring; he came out swinging, strikes as fast as lightning, and a wit to match. What he lacked in stature he made up in attitude: thick brows seemed to be permanently knit together in a scowl over clear blue eyes, and his sneer was obstinate, and rather cheeky. He was missing his front tooth, and the ones bordering it were pointed. He looked like, in a word, a scrapper, and the way he spoke and moved belied very little about this observation. He was the man Sam Fogarino sent when he wanted action over words, and Fogarino had spent far too long being jerked about by the late Joshua Homme. Miles Kane was on his radar, and Fogarino decided that he’d put the lad to the test first thing, and make sure the Scouser knew who he was messing with.

Seated at a table in the crowded courtyard of A.O.C. just east of Beverly Hills, Thomson eyed the door, watching for the lanky Englishman and his ever-present bodyguard, the ex-boxer Matthew Helders, to arrive. According Fogarino, Kane was now overseeing California as Homme had met an untimely death some weeks ago while vacationing in the Mediterranean. 

_Good riddance_ , Thomson thought as his blunt fingers lifted the lemon wedge from the lip of his glass and tossed it to one side with a flick of distaste. _Why did everything in California have to come with fruit? It's fucking water, for chrissake._ He rolled his eyes and checked his watch again. Kane was already ten minutes late. Tardiness wasn’t something Thomson took lightly, especially when it came to Sam’s dealings. They had a business to run, after all, and money to shift around. A delay always meant more ass kissing somewhere down the road, and Thomson was more likely to kick an ass as opposed to the the previous option. Glancing to the entryway he finally caught sight of Kane waltzing through, narrow-limbed and dressed in a navy suit and a fucking polka dot shirt. Once more, Thomson rolled his eyes. 

Kane neared the table, two other men in tow, and Thomson stood up to greet the Scouser.

“So yer Kane, aye?” Thomson flashed his jagged grin at Miles. When he noticed Alex, his eyebrow went up and he wagged his chin. “An’ him? Sam didna say anythin’ about you bringin’ a third party.”

“He’s with me. This is Mr. Turner. My…companion.”

Thomson’s keen gaze swung over Alex, slender and petulant, by first glance, a face that looked unimpressed with everything around him, and endless dark eyes. He saw the way Kane’s hand rested on Mr. Turner’s lower back, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes again. Everything in California really _did_ come with fruit. With a huff he stuck his hand out and Alex, to Thomson’s surprise, gripped it firmly, and stared passively into his eyes.

“Turner,” Thomson grunted.

“Thomson,” Turner replied with a slow rounding of the syllables.

Thomson then noticed the third man and he felt a flutter of uneasiness. “You’re not Helders.” He looked back to Kane. “What gives?”

Kane was busy directing Turner to sit, and he glanced at Thomson with a raised eyebrow. “Helders has the day off. This is Cas.”

The Scotsman shook his head, watching as Cas silently draped himself over a chair. “And that means what?” Thomson asked, looking back to Kane.

“That he’s been cleared by Clarke,” Kane said. “Handpicked, if you need to know, direct from his last employer Black Cat Barat. Now, are we going to have a meeting, or are we going to argue specifics?”

Thomson bristled at Kane’s tone, and his fists flexed involuntarily. “Sam doesn’t like last minute changes.”

Kane waved Thomson’s concern away as he sat and signalled a waiter. “Sam doesn’t like anything he can’t control.” The waiter approached and Kane ordered sparkling water for Turner, and a gimlet for himself. When the waiter left, Kane plucked a menu from where they were stacked, and opened it, perusing the offerings. “You can assure your employer, Mr. Thomson, that I have total control when it comes to my territory. I know exactly what is coming in, and what is going out - every dollar, cent, kilo, or gram. I probably even know what underwear you’re sporting, so don’t go getting it in a twist because there was a slight change in personnel .”

“Your territory? I heard you were merely seeing things over while Clarke wines and dines prospects from overseas. New Zealand, was it? Or Australia?” The Scotsman flashed a wicked grin and waited for Kane’s reaction.

“Clarke’s meeting someone new every other week. I’m not concerned. Clarke himself called me to congratulate me on my current dealings through all counties. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, Thomson.”

The Scouser certainly had a pair of brass balls, Thomson thought to himself. Confidence, too. Maybe he wouldn’t have to result to physical demands right away. Thomson cast his gaze over Turner who was watching the verbal sparring match closely. “So, if Kane is the brain, and Cas is the brawn, what does that make you?”

Kane snapped his fingers sharply, bringing Thomson’s eyes back to him. “He’s here to watch, and learn. There will come a time, Thomson, when you may be taking orders from him, so I suggest you put your reservations about him somewhere less obvious than your current state. I trust Alex more than anyone else in the world. But we’re not here to talk about him.” He paused as the waiter returned with their drinks. Alone once more, he continued. “Zack Michael was up in Reno over the weekend, Helders in tow. Now, there’s potential for business up there, but Nevada is pretty much a free territory since Homme had a rather... unfortunate accident.”

“I heard he was shot up on some runway in New England.”

Kane smiled and stirred his drink before taking a sip. “Is that what you heard?” he murmured after he swallowed. “There’s so many versions, really,” he shrugged. “Let’s just say that whatever end he did in fact meet was a direct result of fucking with the wrong people.” He let his words sink in as he watched Thomson closely.

Craning his neck and easing the collar of his shirt, Thomson pursed his lips in thought. A moment later, he leaned over the table. “Sam’s been handling things in Nevada for the last few months.”

“I know,” Kane nodded. “I realize that. I admire that, and I respect it. Which is why I didn’t want nose my way into it without his blessing. So I’ve got a proposal for your boss, Mr. Thomson. I know he’s a busy man, juggling Nevada in the wake of things, as well as his duties to New Mexico and Texas. I’m willing to ease that pressure off of him in exchange for full access to his connections. He’ll get a percentage of the earnings, of course, I wouldn’t expect him to give everything up.”

Thomson cocked his head at Kane and studied him for a moment. “And this got the O.K. from Clarke?”

Kane answered, “Clarke knows how busy Mr. Fogarino is.”

Thomson’s gaze suddenly slid to Turner, who was watching Kane closely, his expression gone from that of bored to suddenly interested, and a bit concerned. He quickly focused on Kane once more. Something wasn’t quite right.

“You playing another angle, Kane? Hmm? Something I should be aware of?”

Immediately sitting back, Kane held his hands out palms up. “Look, I’m just trying to clean up after the shitstorm. Tell your boss I’ll take Nevada off his hands, he’ll see...fifteen percent of the revenue, Clarke still gets his allotted fifty five, and everybody is happy.”

The Scotsman considered the offer. To him, Clarke’s consent in the matter sounded vague, but lately Thomson was convinced that the old man barely remembered what he had for breakfast most days, and a lot of the boys on his team felt similarly. Talk of retirement had been running rampant for two years now, which had pushed Homme into action. No doubt Kane was of the same mindset - it was common knowledge that the Scouser had scuttled up to Chicago with hopes of swiping that from under Josh’s nose. If Kane had been a relative unknown in the ranks before, he’d made a name for him with that stunt, and the ones that followed. He wasn’t well-loved by Clarke, but the old man kept him employed regardless. Thomson weighed his options, and those of his own boss. Side dealings weren’t totally unheard of - Homme had certainly had his fair share, and Sam wasn’t a stranger to them, either. But Homme had always had Vegas, and now that Fogarino was in charge down there, Thomson knew he’d be hard pressed to give it up.

Finally, Thomson spoke. “Thirty percent, and we want jurisdiction in Vegas.”

Kane narrowed his gaze. “Twenty percent, and you can bloody keep Vegas.”

Thomson snorted at Kane’s naivety. There wasn’t anything else _in_ Nevada; he could have Reno for all Sam would care. “Let me run this by Sam.”

“I trust you’ll be discreet, Thomson. Too many people catch wind of back door dealings and it tends to leave everyone a bit on edge, yeah? Have him contact me directly.”

+

In truth, John Cooper Clarke had no idea that Miles had arranged a meeting with Thomson but he had a feeling it wouldn’t much matter. The were only two men he knew to be brutally loyal to Clarke - his personal assistant, Mr. Cave, and Carlos Barat. The latter of these two, of course, was Miles’ best bet. He wasn’t sure Barat was loyal to anyone but himself, but he did like the way Kane handled things that were thrown at him from every direction. “You’ve even cheated death, twice, mon dieu!” The Frenchman had exclaimed one night in Capri. _“And here poor Johnny is hanging on with every other breath, and no plan in sight. If he dies tomorrow, everyone is fucked. He has to have something in mind for the inevitable.”_ Those words had resonated with Kane all the way back to American soil, bubbling to the surface as he sat in Clarke’s office three days after his return from Italy. He’d known then and there that he’d have to play ball, have to be the good egg for once, the one that listened and obeyed. 

But it wouldn’t stop Miles from making arrangements to benefit himself, which included the meeting at A.O.C. that had ended when the first course arrived. Over the charcuterie that had been ordered according to Alex’s expertise (and here, Miles’ heart had beat a little faster, his little diamond making short work of the menu that Miles probably would have gotten fed up with), they talked of simpler things. Miles extended an invitation to Barat’s reception at the end of the week, to which Thomson agreed to relay to Fogarino. The business offer to Fogarino, and the implications it held, were the furthest thing from Miles’ mind as he watched Alex smoothly relate a handful of anecdotes from Italy to Thomson, who seemed to have eased over the course of the meal. Even if Clarke did come to learn of the deal Miles was making - and it was a sure thing, merely a formality at this point - Miles doubted it would cause that much strife, at least not on the surface. The more men Miles could get aligned with, the easier his expansion of businesses, and subsequent expulsion of Clarke, would become. These new ventures would create lasting partners who would without a doubt come to realize that Miles Kane was a man with a plan, and who knew how to execute it to his full advantage.

+

“Cas, swing past the house, mate. Gonna drop Alex off before I head out to The Smith.”

Alex pulled his attention from the passing scenery of West Hollywood to blink questioningly at Miles.

“Wot?”

Miles frowned at his phone while he thumbed a text. “Got another meeting but it’s not-” he paused and looked up at Alex with a shrug “-it’s not a scene you need to be at.”

Alex sat back with a scowl. “All...alright but...you said the other night - you _just_ said this morining, Mi, that it were you an’ me-”

“I’m not about to take you into a drop bar that is crawling with cops, dirty or otherwise, not to mention a few unsavoury characters that I’d rather not have you near.”

“What do you call those weeks in Italy?” Alex pressed, trying to keep his tone light.

“There’s a difference, love,” Miles breathed, still texting whomever he was speaking with. “I know Barat. I might not trust him one hundred percent, but I trust him more than the lowlife scum running these bars.”

Alex cleared his throat. “And Homme?”

Miles’ gaze snapped to Alex. “What about Homme?”

“You’re forgetting that I put up with that lowlife scum for a few weeks, as well.”

“And _you’re_ forgetting that I didn’t give the order on that.” He turned back to his phone. “Fucking Clarke did. I’ll never forgive that fossil for putting Homme in charge.”

“You said I could handle this. I can, you know.”

Taking a sharp breath, Miles locked his phone and slipped it back into his pocket. “Is that so?” 

“I _have_ to, Miles, if it’s...for you, I can.”

Miles smiled grimly at the conviction in Alex’s voice. “I don’t doubt that, lad. But that doesn’t keep you from getting killed, now does it? You’re not ready for this, not yet, all right?” Tilting his head, he clicked his tongue at Alex’s pout, and reached for the younger man’s hand. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“If you’re worried about me being safe, should I be just as worried about you?” Alex set his jaw and stared at Miles expectantly.

“This is business, this is the way it’s done, and the way I have to do it, all right? Yes, it’s dangerous for me, so I don’t need to be worrying about you in there as well. Cas has my back.”

“And who has his?”

Miles chuckled at the younger man’s sullen veneer. “You’re making this out to be more than it is,” the Scouser reassured with an easy shrug. “All I’m doing is meeting with a bar owner - Kapranos is hardly a bad guy. He’s more interested in snorting his profits than anything else; hell, he doesn’t even carry a gun.”

Alex opened his hands with a placating gesture. “Then what’s the worry? I’m never gonna learn if you don’t-”

“What you need to learn, laa, is when to _listen_.”

Clapping his jaw shut, Alex looked away for a moment.

Miles continued. “I’m doing this for you, do you understand? Lunch in a crowded restaurant full of lovely people is one thing. This is a drop bar. Clarke’s money is run through this bar, dropped by dealers, handled by cops who turn the other way and get their own cut.” He reached for Alex’s face then, fingers under the sharp line of his jaw, and he turned those dark eyes towards him. “This is not a walk in the park. These men mean business. Or do I need to remind you of our first meeting?”

“I-” Alex breathed, lashes fluttering as he looked down in realization. “No. You don’t.” Nodding to himself, he then looked back to Miles. “I know you’re trying to keep me safe. Just...try to see it from my perspective?”

“What, that you wanna play with the big kids outside the sandbox?” Miles shook his head. “You’re not ready.” 

“You saw how easily Thomson’s defences folded once I started talking to him.”

“You’re not a threat to him.”

“And,” Alex continued, his voice climbing over Miles’. “I know how to use a gun.”

“Yeah, and bottles don’t shoot back.” Miles chuckled and his fingers turned soft, sliding along Alex’s face and pulling him forward.

Shying away from Miles’ condescending tone, and his touch, Alex directed his gaze out the window again. “You can’t just...tell me we’re in this together and then tell me ‘no’, Miles. It’s not-”

Miles’ hand clenched where it had dropped to his thigh. “Not what? Not _fair_? That’s your argument? You wanna know what’s not fucking _fair_ , Alex? Having to split my work load with Zack fucking Michael. Wanna know what’s not fair? I had to concede to giving Fogarino fucking Las Vegas just to keep him from bitching. Wanna know what’s not fair? Cam Avery is no doubt sitting up on the top floor of Clarke’s white palace, lookin’ down on me while I do all the work, and he’s thinking he’s gonna get my job. But that’s the way business goes. You work it to your favour. I’m working it to _our_ favour, laa.”

“Then stop splitting us up,” Alex replied softly. He laid his hand over Miles’ where it was flexing into the upholstery, and he tucked his fingers in between Miles’.

Miles looked down at their hands and shook his head. “I just got you back. I’m not gonna put you in danger. You’re sitting this one out, Alex.” He met Alex’s eyes once more. “Soon, laa, I promise, I’ll show you all the ins and outs.”

Alex nodded and looked back out the window, wincing as Miles’ fingers tightened around his.

+

The house had been more or less empty when Helders had returned from the gym, save for Charlotte, of course, and the regular cleaning crew that came through bi-weekly. He was anxious, of course, and part of him followed the crew around their routine, checking the surveillance equipment, while another part of him was anxious for Alex to return. Jamie had chosen his words wisely, words that echoed still, beyond the thrum of the vacuum and the soft din of music that played through a portable Bluetooth speaker that the crew carried with them.

Replaying parts of that conversation with Cook in his mind, Helders focused on the the feeling that Jamie knew something he wasn’t being totally forward with. While he could understand his own concern for Alex as he knew the entirety of what the man had gone through, Cook’s plea had seemed almost desperate. Cook had been intimate with Alex, Helders had no doubt in his mind, and so it was within reason that the man was emotionally invested. He wondered just what the nature of his relationship with the seldom mentioned ‘Katie’ had been. 

As he passed through to the study of the main entrance, he caught sight of Fab and put the thought into motion, catching the other man as he made his way to the front door.

“You got a second?” Helders asked, moving into Fab’s path.

Fab blinked as he looked up, and shrugged. “Yeah, a minute. Cas is coming by with Mr. Kane and I’m headed out to meet them to head to the Smith. What’s up?”

Helders nodded and gave him a small smile. He liked Fab, didn’t find he had to be a hardass with him like he did Cas, or trade banter back and forth like Valensi was prone to do. He took a breath and asked point blank, “What can you tell me about Jamie’s last girlfriend, Katie?”

Fab’s eyebrows went up, clearly surprised by the question. “Um…” he paused with a shrug. “I mean...yeah, they were involved. Don’t know if I’d call her his girlfriend, it wasn’t like they went out on dates.”

“Was she involved with Barat at the same time?”

The smaller man shook his head. “Katie was a mule, right? Like, she helped Barat move his product in and out of Europe, and around the continent. Barat likes his women; Katie was one of his favourites.”

“What happened to her?”

“You know those kinds of stories, Helders. Nice, pretty young girl, gets caught up with the wrong people, winds up dead. Jamie found her floating face down in the ocean at the foot of Barat’s property in Capri. People said that she was high, too fucking high, man, and that she fell - or thought she could fly.” Fab paused and shook his head again. “Hard to say if she’s better off, you know? She, um...she suffered a lot at Barat’s hands, at the hands of some of his business partners. Cook picked her up, brushed her off. Or tried to. When she turned up dead, it shook him up, put strain on the relationship between him and Barat. Why do you think Barat jumped at the chance to send us stateside? He couldn’t wait to get Cook off of his turf. It happened three years ago but I know Cook still feels responsible. That he wasn’t fast enough.”

“Fast enough?” Helders echoed.

“Yeah - he was trying to get her out of the country, back to England at least, to her family. I don’t know how he was expecting to hide her from Barat, that man has connections everywhere.” Fab cut his story off as his phone buzzed. He glacned at the screen, and then pocketed it. “That’s Cas. Anyway, there’s not much to tell beyond that, I don’t think. Why are you asking?”

Helders shrugged casually. “Just...asking. He doesn’t talk much, Cook.”

“Not like before, no. He’s a lot more...in control, since Katie, you know.” Fab flashed a sympathetic smile. “Anyway. I’m out. Valensi back from that house yet?”

Helders shook his head. “Nah. He and Cook are still there, as far as I know.”

“Right. Take it easy.”

Fab turned to grasp the doorknob, but the door swung wide, and Alex stormed in. He stopped short when he noticed Fab and Helders standing there, and his mouth hung open, a little startled.

“Mr. Turner,” Fab nodded, slipping past him and out the door, down the steps to where Cas was waiting with Miles in the backseat.

Helders watched as Alex took a breath and closed the door behind himself, and settled against it with a thick swallow.

“You all right?” Helders asked, giving Alex the once over.

“Need a fuckin’ drink,” Alex growled, pushing away from the door and shrugging out of his suit jacket. Moving down the hall towards the study, Alex encountered the cleaning crew, and waved them away, directing them to another area of the house for the time being. When they’d vanished towards the spacious living room, Alex’s shoulders sagged as he reached for the crystal decanter of whiskey, and a glass.

“Something happen at lunch?”

As he poured, Alex shook his head. “Lunch went off without a hitch,” he explained softly, pausing to take a sip. “Miles is pretty sure he’s...we’ve...got Thomson to give us the expanse of Nevada, minus Vegas.” He peered down into the liquid with a pout. “Matthew, honest question: do you think I can handle meself in this business?” He looked up expectantly.

Helders frowned for a moment. “A few years ago...no,” he answered honestly. “No way.”

“And now?”

“Where is this coming from?” Helders asked, moving through the room.

“Joost...answer the question, mate. Can I handle this business?”

Nodding gently, Helders replied, “Yeah. Yeah, I think you can.”

Alex scoffed, and threw the rest of the whiskey into his mouth. He swallowed with a wince, and then poured another. “You an’ me, mate. Miles doesn’t fink much about me at all.”

“I thought you two were-”

“He tells me it’s me an’ him, yeah? That’s all I’ve ever wanted, I think, Matthew. Me an’ him as equals. I mean at first I was happy to be kept by him. Who wouldn’t be? But there comes a time when you need summat more. Summat happens to you and suddenly you’re no longer...you need more. So I asked him for it. Asked him to take me wiv him to night, to The Smith. He told me I’m not ready for it.”

“Alex, I…” Helders looked the slighter man over, noticing for the first time that there was a hardness in his eyes and in his features that hadn’t been there before Capri. Before Capri, Alex had been haunted by Homme’s ghost, despite his best efforts to cut away the dead parts of himself and begin anew. Now, the ex-boxer wasn’t one hundred percent certain he knew the young man before him. 

“I wanted to kill Homme,” Alex murmured, setting his glass down “I wanted to, so badly, I could taste.” He flexed his fingers into tight fists. “I could almost feel it, Matthew, I had his blood on me hands, if I’d had more time…” he quickly looked to Helders. “An’ he took that from me, you know? He took my one chance, just like he’s taken all me chances, but _that_ one, Matthew...I wanted it. I needed it.” He looked away for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Sometimes it seems he owes me more than I owe him.”

The younger man’s words made Helder’s stomach twist, and he moved into Alex’s line of sight. “Stop it,” he snapped. “You’re starting to sound just like him.”

Alex lifted an eyebrow, his mouth opened cockily. “He’s still trying to put me under lock and key. Keep me safe and unmarred.” Alex rubbed his temples and picked up his glass, taking a sip of his second drink. “I’m so...utterly confused, Matthew.”

“I need to talk to you-”

Alex’s phone began to chirp where he’d stashed it in the pocket of his slacks and he reached for it, still looking at Helders, who shook his head in concession. “It’s okay I’ll just…” he fumbled and looked down at the screen, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “It’s Clarke,” he breathed, looking to Helders once more.

Helders nodded and gestured for Alex to go ahead.

“Hullo?” Alex answered, moving to pace the office, drink in hand.

“Mr. Turner,” Clarked greeted jovially. “How are you these days, lad?”

Alex felt his cheeks heat with a flare of nerves. “I’m quite well, thank you, Sir.”

“I feel as though Mr. Kane is hell-bent on keeping you to himself. I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk at _Cato_ the other night.”

“Ah...yes, I wasn’t feeling my best that evening. Apologies.”

“No need, no need. In fact, you can make it up to me.”

“Sir?” Alex mumbled.

“I’ve a meeting tonight with Mr. Avery, concerning a few things regarding the future of my business. Mr. Kane, unfortunately, is working, or so he’s told me, and I hate rescheduling. I want you to come in his stead.”

Alex blinked again, his mouth open, but no sound coming out.

“Mr. Turner?” Clarke prodded from his end.

“I...I don’t know if…” He looked to Helders, uncertain of how to reply.

Helders could only shrug, his curiosity piqued.

“It’s nothing fancy, lad, nothing to get to worked up about. But it is important. I feel I can trust you with this, trust your input. You’re a resourceful young man, and I know you have your talents. I know you can handle this. Can I count on you, Alex?”

Alex swallowed thickly and closed his eyes at the question. _This_ was the kind of chance he wanted from Miles, and while Miles seemed content to dangle the idea of a partnership in front of Alex’s nose, John Cooper Clarke was heaping it onto his plate. If he could handle this, do this for Miles, then that would stand for something. MIles would have to take notice.

“Mr. Turner?”

“Of course, Mr. Clarke,” he heard himself say as he opened his eyes. “What time is the meeting at?”

+

Alex took Helders with him. If Miles wasn’t going to use him, then Alex would certainly take advantage. Besides, no matter how safe he felt going into this meeting, having Helders there made him feel secure in his decision to go. 

The meeting was scheduled for six at Clarke’s home. Dressed in black slacks and a white shirt, he pulled a navy blazer on, combed his hair into place, and then paused, staring at his shoulder holster. He didn’t feel it necessary and yet...this was a meeting. He wanted to be taken seriously, seen as an actual voice in Miles’ part of the operation. With a slight twinge of reservation, Alex slipped it on, securing his piece in the cup at the side of his body. 

He was in the front seat of his Astin, Helders in the passenger side, at half-past five. Traffic was surprisingly smooth for mid week in Venice around the dinner hour, and it allowed Alex to think as he drove, avoiding Helders’ occasional glances as he paid attention to the roads. The ex-boxer was vibrating with urgency, and Alex had an idea that it had more to do with what Helders wanted to talk to him about, than going to a dinner meeting at John Cooper Clarke’s home.

They were greeted at the Clarke residence by Mr. Cave, who then led them through the main floor of the house to the sprawling space that made up the backyard. With the sun tracing towards the coast, golden light spliced through the trees and warmed the intimately set seating area. Dark wicker furniture was stacked with cream coloured cushions, and in the centre sat a simple, elegant table dressed with pale linens, wine glasses, and flatware. Clarke and Avery were already seated, speaking quietly among themselves when Mr. Cave announced Alex and Helders’ arrival.

“Alex!” Clarke stood from the table, his smile beaming, and he made his way across the patio with his hand extended. The cloud of dark hair on his head stuck out in all sorts of angles, and he seemed comfortable enough in dark lounge pants and a dark kimono with koi embroidered on the sleeves. He wore slippers, too, and Alex took it as a sign that Clarke was relaxed, and not worried about anything tonight.

“Mr. Clarke, it’s nice to see you again.” He shook the older man’s hand. “Thank you for the invitation.” He paused and motioned to Helders. “You know Matthew?”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Helders, welcome. Last time you were here we didn’t get to talk much; perhaps we’ll change that? Still hitting the bag?”

Helders nodded dutifully. “Was just out this morning, Sir.”

“Good, good. Keep sharp.” He smiled and pointed a finger at Alex. “Gonna need you to keep your eye on this one for me.” He motioned to the table, where Avery was already standing, and moving to greet them.

“Mr. Turner,” Avery nodded, extending his hand with an open smile. “Pleasure to see you again.”

“Likewise, Mr. Avery,” Alex replied, gazing up into Avery’s stare and feeling immediate ease. “Please, call me Alex.”

“If you’ll call me Cam,” Avery replied with a wink. He dropped Alex’s hand and greeted Helders with a firm grip.

“Let’s sit, shall we?” Clarke suggested, already moving to the table.

The other three followed suit. Once seated, Clarke directed Mr. Cave to take a drink order before dinner was to be served, and then sat back, fingers tented under his chin as he smiled warmly at Alex.

“You’ve changed since we last met, Mr. Turner. For the better, I think. How are things?”

“Settled,” Alex replied after a moment’s pause, glancing quickly at Avery. He didn’t want to give too much away; he had no idea how much Avery knew, if anything, about Miles’ operation, or what had happened over the last few months.

“Mm. Glad to hear it. After everything that went on in Capri, I was happy to hear you’d made it back in one piece.” Clarke looked to Helders. “I have you to thank for that?”

Helders shook his head. “Not just me, Sir, but thank you. Cook...It were Cook, mostly.”

Clarke nodded and looked at Avery who was listening with a curious expression. “A bit of action, it seems, in the Mediterranean. I’m sure you’ve heard a few stories about Joshua Homme since your arrival.”

“Rumours, really, that’s all,” Avery shrugged, flashing a charming smile as he leaned forward and looked to Alex. “Maybe you could fill me in?”

Alex pressed his tongue to the inside of his lip, reading Avery for a moment. With a small laugh, he shook his head. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Really?” Avery asked pointedly. “That’s not what I heard. I heard that he was eaten by an alligator.”

Alex laughed again. “No, no,” he replied flippantly, before pinning Avery with his gaze. “It were a crocodile.”

For a moment, Avery paused, leveling his stare with Alex’s, and he broke out into a laugh. “Right, right,” he shook his head. “My mistake.”

The tone of his voice told Alex he wasn’t convinced of that story, either, so Alex shrugged and turned the tables. “And what about you, _Cam_? Came all this way from Australia to...open a bar? Or were you chasing a girl?”

Avery’s laughter waned, and he sobered quite fantastically, clearing his throat and knitting his dark brow. “Ah...not quite. Chased a dream. And a hell of an opportunity.”

Alex’s eyebrow went up in interest as Avery’s gaze flicked to Clarke, and Alex followed that line of sight. Clarke smiled congenitally, and waved Avery’s flattery aside. He looked up as Mr. Cave returned with their drinks, and an announcement that dinner would be served shortly. 

“Gentlemen, a toast,” Clarke decided, raising his glass. “To...dreams and opportunities,” he continued, winking at Avery.

“And crocodiles,” Avery added cheekily. He grinned at Alex and raised his glass in turn.

Alex lifted his own glass. “To crocodiles,” he echoed before drinking deeply.

+

“What I’m proposing is expansion.” Clarke paused and cut into his filet mignon, taking a bite and chewing it thoughtfully. He swallowed and continued. “Not right away, mind you, but in the next few years, I’m hoping to bring both Australia and New Zealand on board. Small steps, of course, but Cameron here is quite the name in Perth. Has several contacts here in the US as well, don’t you?”

Avery nodded, chewing. “I think what we have going here right now is good. Solid foundation to build on. But we need to keep looking to the future, don’t we, Johnny? And in order to do that, we need new talent.”

Alex nodded, aware that what Avery was saying was very true, but words kept jumping out at him. “When you say, ‘we’, to whom exactly are you referring to?”

Avery chuckled and pointed his fork at Alex. “You’re sharp. Johnny said you were sharp. I mean us, this organization, that’s all,” he shrugged, taking another bite of his meal. “I’m the new kid on the block, here. I’m just trying to fit in.”

The ‘new kid on the block’ seemed very content to call Clarke ‘Johnny’ - he’d only heard one other man do it, and that was Barat, and Barat seemed to be the only one likely to get away with it. But as Alex looked to Clarke to gague the reaction, he couldn’t help but notice that there was a fondness in his eyes he’d never seen when Clarke was talking to Miles. He hadn’t even batted an eye when Avery called him Johnny, and it put Alex on alert

“Of course,” Alex smiled at Cam easily enough. “I do agree with you on that.”

“Now, Alex, you must realize that there is a reason why I’ve asked you here tonight - beyond filling in Kane’s absence. This new talent Avery is talking about? You’re a perfect fit. I knew it the moment I met you. You just needed a bit of exposure, that’s all. A bit of room to spread your wings.” Clarke chuckled and looked to Avery. “Four months ago and he couldn’t even bring himself to tell me he liked his tea hot. Now look at him: christ, he even carries a piece.”

Alex’s gaze shifted to Avery, who was unarmed, at least visibly. He squared his shoulders. “I’m not into taking chances these days,” Alex explained.

“No, I would suppose not,” Clarke replied lowly. “No matter. That’s not my point - or at least, that’s only part of it. You’re calm, Alex, an observer, a thinker. Kane is impulsive, we all can agree on that.”

“We complement one another,” Alex elaborated.

“But every man needs to know his own calibre,” Avery interjected. “His own worth. What is your place in this business, Alex?”

For a moment, Alex blinked at Avery, rolling the words around his mind. Where did he fit in? He scowled, realizing that he hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t had a need to, and now it was staring him in the face. Miles seemed to know the answer, but he didn’t want to tell Alex.

“Alex?” Clarke gently called.

He blinked and looked at Clarke. “I’m sorry, Sir?” he mumbled.

Clarke smiled fondly and shook his head. “It was a rhetorical question, lad. Avery is always asking those introspective questions - quite the free thinking hippie, this one.”

“ _Hipster_ , John,” Avery laughed. “And it’s not like I’m eating bee pollen and drinking boxed water.”

Alex looked back to Avery and his smile wobbled as he pushed his mouth to obey. “I understand what you’re saying, to a degree.”

“But can you see yourself moving up from where you are now?” Clarke prodded gently.

Smiling to himself, Alex stared into the wine glass at the top of his plate, and he pressed his thumb into the condensation, swiping a section clear and watching the beads form once more. “I’ve not given it much thought, to be honest,” he said slowly. “But I’m beginning to realize that in order to succeed, one must believe in one’s abilities.” He scowled for a moment and thought carefully on his next words. “I’ve been to hell and back, John, got closer to the devil than I ever wanted to along the way, and yet here I am. And I know,” he said, raising his gaze to Clarke, “that I can handle whatever this life throws at me.”

Clarke smiled, looked to Avery with a nod, and then back to Alex. “I have no doubt in my mind.”

+

“You’re rather sullen,” Alex quipped from the driver’s side as he and Helders drove home later that evening. “In fact, you’ve barely said a word all night.”

“I’m not paid to talk,” Helders muttered, his gaze fixed on the streets as they went.

Alex sighed. “C’mon, mate, don’t give me that shit. This is _me_ you’re talking to, you know.”

Helders snorted. “Is it?”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Alex snapped suddenly.

“Nowt,” Helders sighed, shaking his head. “I’m just...do you really think this is smart, Alex? Going behind Kane’s back-”

“I’m not going behind his back, Matthew,” Alex interrupted, a little shocked that he would think that way. “I’m doing this for him, yeah? To secure _our_ future. That’s what couples do.”

“Alex, you and Kane are the furthest thing from a couple. You’re not exactly picking out a semi-detached home in Pomona with a white picket fence and a yard for the kids to play. You’re part of a multi-million dollar empire, an empire that Kane wants for himself - were you not paying attention to anything going on in that meeting tonight?”

Gripping the steering wheel, Alex clenched his jaw, tamping down his emotions. “There you go again,” he growled. “Telling me what I can and can’t do. You did it to me in Capri, and you’re doing it now.”

“Because I don’t wanna see you get killed!” Helders roared, finally looking at Alex. “I watched it before, you know, that time, after Homme,” he paused to take a breath as Alex’s face darkened, “I thought ‘nobody can live through this’. Nobody _should_ have to live through that Alex, not what he did to you. And then I saw it in your eyes: that spark that told me you were going to fight this. You were going to survive even if it took everything you were made of. You begged me not to tell Kane, and I kept my end of the bargain.” Helders scowled at Alex in disbelief, and continued. “But for what? What the fuck am I risking my neck for keeping you safe if you’re so eager to get yourself killed? Alex, Clarke and Avery don’t want you as a liaison between them and Kane, they want Kane out - gone, yeah? Do you have any idea what Kane will do to you if he finds out?” 

“He won’t,” Alex sputtered desperately. “They’re not-”

“They’ll use you,” Helders said over Alex’s protests, “just like Miles is using you, and just like Cook is using you.”

Alex flinched at the mention of Cook’s name. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come off it already. I know you’ve got...something for Cook, all right? It might not be love, but it’s dangerous, and it’s gonna get you killed. Do you even know what happened to Katie?”

The dark-eyed man was silent for a moment and the car rolled to a stop at a red light. “No,” he muttered.

The next several minutes Alex spent driving and listening to Helders spin a heartbreaking account of love, sex, drugs, and power. When he was done, he let the silence between them grow, and fester, until the house came into view and Alex slowed down to pull up the driveway.

“Do you get it, now?” Helders asked as Alex drove through the open gate and around the circular drive to the house. “Cook is haunted, Alex, and he’s using you to forget about how badly he fucked up on the job. That’s the number one rule in a gig like this: don’t get involved.” He paused, as Alex parked at the front steps, and turned the ignition off. His hand lingered on the door latch. “Because when you get involved, things get messy, and mistakes get made. Now, it’s too late for me, yeah? Cuz I love you like a brother, Al, a brother I can’t save from this world. That’s not my job. So do me a favour and keep your head on.” He opened the passenger door and unfolded his frame from the Astin, and moved up the steps to the front door.

A moment later and Alex heard the front door open and close again. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and yet when he took another, it shook as Helders’ words sank in. Was everyone abandoning him? First Jamie had tried to get him to leave, hadn’t gotten his way, and Miles was sending mixed signals that Alex couldn’t begin to unravel. Now Helders was pulling back, too, and Alex felt his throat begin to ache with emotion at the thought of losing that friendship. Avery’s words flooded his brain: _What is your place in this business, Alex?_

He gripped the steering wheel tightly and fought against the tears threatening to spill. When he heard the front door open again, he sighed. “Matthew, look, m’sorreh-” he froze as he swung his gaze up to the front door where not Helders, but Miles stood.

The Scouser paused before storming down the steps and coming to a standstill at the passenger side. Giving Alex the once over he blinked expectantly. “Alex. So glad you’re home love,” he seethed. “Mind tellin’ me where the _fuck_ you’ve been all evening?”

+

Miles couldn’t sleep. The hallways of his mind were haunted with the ghosts of cocaine and Alex’s answer to his whereabouts. He’d gone to Clarke’s for a meeting with Avery, without clearance, without thought, without warning, and Miles didn’t give two fucks if Clarke had extended the invitation and, according to Alex, “It would have been rude for me to decline.”

The little fucker actually had the nerve to tack on at the end, “I were filling in for you, Mi. This were important, otherwise Clarke wouldn’t have insisted on one of us being present.”

The only problem with Alex’s explanation was that Clarke hadn’t called Miles in the first place. And while Miles was out doing the dirty work, dealing with Kapranos and making sure the books added up, Alex was being wined and dined by John Cooper Clarke. The younger man had been rather calm in his explanation of what had taken place. “Nowt to get excited about. Just pleasantries, really. Welcoming Avery into the fold.” Despite Miles’ desire to argue, Alex seemed out of fuel, or uninterested, and he’d palmed a pair of Ambien to down them with a shot of vodka before retiring to the bedroom. Miles glanced at where Alex snored on his side of the bed, dark hair fluffed out madly, jaw slack, fingers curled into the bedclothes. Rubbing his eyes tiredly the Scouser tried to understand just what exactly Alex’s plan had been.

The first and last time Alex had met with Clarke had been the same occasion, while Miles had been unable to do anything about it, unconscious and riddled with bullet holes in the main study. He’d given Alex the go ahead to re-establish security parameters, and Alex had done so rather willingly. While the team that had been put together had proven to be rather effective, more so than Helders and Ford as a pair, it had always irritated Miles that Clarke had a hand in that decision. On top of that, Miles was still sore about how Clarke had handled, or rather, avoided handling, the situation with Homme, and then proceeded to tear Miles a new one when he finally took care of it. All subsequent ass-kissing aside, Miles was not a man to forgive and forget so easily.

He should have known better than to try and keep Alex clear of any business dealing, and Clarke had timed his invitation perfectly. After Miles’ argument with Alex that afternoon he knew that stubborn streak of Alex’s would rear its ugly head and take over. When Alex got something into his head he went full throttle, mind made up, and only one possible outcome: the right one. He was eager, dangerously so, and hadn’t asked the right questions. It gave Miles a feeling of unease. He never thought he’d have to question Alex’s loyalty, not after everything they’d been through, and yet...Miles’ temples throbbed as his thoughts turned over again.

At least Alex had been smart enough to take Helders with him. Not that the old codger, or that hippie asshole Avery, had that killer instinct. Alex didn’t have it either. So what, were they going to stage a flower-crowned uprising, fueled by weed and linen?

Rising from the bed, Miles snagged his cigarettes from the dresser and slipped into his lounge pants and his silk housecoat. He made his way downstairs, the house quiet in the early hours after midnight, and he wandered into the main study to gather a new bottle of whiskey and a glass, before moving back through to the kitchen, and out onto the patio.

The air was cool for once. According to the news there was a front moving up the coast that was bringing rain. It wouldn’t hit for another day or two, but at least the shift in temperature made the evening more bearable. He moved to the table where he usually took his breakfast by the pool and was about to sit down when he glanced across the water and noticed that the lights were still on in the poolhouse. 

Squinting, Miles could just make out Cook sitting at the small breakfast bar therein, face illuminated by the screen of a small laptop. On impulse, he abandoned the table and circled the pool, and stepped right to the sliding door of the poolhouse, which he tapped on with the bottom edge of the whiskey bottle.

Inside, Cook’s gaze snapped up, and he immediately closed the laptop before moving to the door to slide it open.

“Mr. Kane,” Cook greeted with a hint of wariness.

“Cook, me lad. Up at this hour? I can’t sleep, either.” Miles nodded inside with his chin. “Care for company?”

Cook blinked, clearly surprised by Miles’ intrusion, but he nodded and stepped inside. “Of course. Um...I’m sorry for the mess,” he began lamely, shrugging as he glanced around the space.

Miles chuckled. “Maybe I should start sending the maid service over here, too, eh?” He shook his head and proceeded to the kitchenette where Cook had been sitting.

Cook moved too, fumbling with a pile of papers which he stacked on top of his laptop. “Just let me...clear some room. Be right back.” He disappeared in the direction of the sleeping area.

Miles was already making himself at home, because really, it was his home, or a part of it, and he located glasses easily enough. He was just unscrewing the cap to the whiskey when Cook reappeared, standing awkwardly on the opposite side of the bar.

“Sit, sit.” Miles waved towards the seat Cook had been occupying when he interrupted. “You looked rather intense when I arrived. You could use a break.” He poured one for himself and then moved to pour a measure into the second glass.

“I’m fine,” Cook stated briskly.

Miles shook his head and poured anyway. “I’m not askin’.” Setting the bottle aside, he pushed a glass towards Cook with a nod before raising his own. “To sleepless nights.”

Cook hesitated for a moment before he took up the glass offered, and raised it. They both drank in silence for a moment, before Miles started talking again.

“How’s the house you and Valensi were at today?”

Cook swallowed with a nod. “It’s good. It’s secure. Barat will be comfortable, but then again, he’s adaptable.”

“Extra measures in place for Friday night?”

Again, Cook nodded. “Hired a small team from a reputable firm. They’ll watch the front doors and take care of the guest list and the vehicles arriving. Valensi and Fab will be invisible, of course, leaving Cas, Helders, and myself to watch the inside from different vantage points. Barat is no doubt bringing Meighan with him, and Hassall and Powell. They’re a good group, overall, dedicated, focused on the task.”

“You seem to be the man to know,” Miles commented, taking another sip of whiskey. “Have a bead on everyone, don’t you?”

Cook tilted his head. “Sort of my job, really.”

“Clarke wasn’t kidding when he said you were the best.”

“Sir?”

Miles pursed his lips and looked at Cook closely. “How well do you know him? Know Clarke?”

“About as well as anyone else, I suppose.”

“You’re not fooling me,” Miles chuckled. “Come on, you must know him to some other degree. He practically threw you onto my team, and you took over.”

“I’m good with a gun, you know that. Saved Barat’s ass enough times. I don’t think it’s wrong to say that Barat is one of Clarke’s favorites.”

Miles nodded. “No. You’re right about that.” He drained his glass and was silent for a moment, before he reached for the bottle and poured himself another. “Alex had a meeting with him this evening.”

“With Clarke?” Cook blinked, startled at the admission.

“Mmm,” Miles grumbled. “Avery was there, too.” He swallowed the shot he’d poured in one gulp. “What can you tell me about Avery?”

“As much as the next man. I’d never heard of him before last week.” Cook leaned forward on the stool he was perched on. “What’s this about?”

Miles waved a hand. “Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he answered distractedly. When he noticed that Cook’s glass was almost empty, he snatched the bottle up and poured another measure. “Or that we can’t handle, right?” He winked, and poured for himself, too.

Cook slid his fingers around his glass and stared down into the amber liquid, but he didn’t drink right away. “It might be easier to handle if you told me what you’re planning, Mr. Kane,” he pointed out.

Miles hummed again, and nodded, and threw back his third whiskey of the night. “Add Avery to the guest list for Friday. Make sure he’s comfortable all night.”

Cook sat back, his mouth pressed into a grim line. He nodded. “Anything else?”

“Just keep your eyes open, like you always do.” He winked and took the bottle with him as he left.

+

“Fuck,” Cook swore as he watched Kane enter the main house. What the hell had Alex got himself into _now_?

He shouldn’t be concerned. He shouldn’t be worried - isn’t that what Alex said? But it was the victim that was always in denial, always seeking the better side of things, covering up for the person responsible. He stared a moment longer at the whiskey Kane had poured before he left, and then he drank it down, setting the glass aside with another curse.

He hadn’t been lying about not knowing Avery; he was relatively unknown, and the only thing Mal had been able to provide was a copy of his visa and his passport picture, and signed papers for the sale of the building he’d turned into _Cato_. From their perspective, he was clean, but he’d asked Mal to put a call into the overseas department to see what the Australian authorities had to say about him. 

When Kane had mentioned Alex’s meeting with Clarke and Avery, Jamie had fought to keep his expression neutral as he gagued the Scouser’s reaction. He seemed uneasy, like perhaps the meeting hadn’t been his idea, nor had Alex’s presence there. And his questions regarding Clarke, regarding the security in place for Barat, and finally the invitation to be extended to Avery, all set Jamie’s instinct on alert. Something was very off about the situation.

Had Helders had a chance to talk to Alex yet? It didn’t seem like it, not with the way Alex was willingly stepping into the ring. _Stubborn little shit_ , Cook thought to himself. Was Alex really that naive? How could he be, after what he’d been through? There had to be something more, some other reason as to why Alex had met with Clarke, and why Kane was so agitated by it.

Unless Kane hadn’t known. It was uncharacteristic for Kane to seek anyone out these days, beyond Cas, and his arrival at the poolhouse had caught Jamie with his guard down. The Scouser seemed pensive, and eerily calm throughout his conversation. He’d asked questions to which Jamie suddenly realized he already knew the answers to. The wheels in Kane’s head had been turning since he arrived, and Jamie knew without a doubt that Kane was planning something, and when Kane planned something, people ended up hurt, or worse.

More often than not, they ended up dead.

+

By the end of that week, Jamie was watching from his position on the mezzanine level of the house as the welcome party in Barat’s honour bloomed into full effect. The music was loud, the alcohol was flowing freely, and men and women intermingled all around, with Barat at the centre of attention, and Kane close at hand. Cas hovered nearby, eyes flickering among the crowd for any anomalies. Across from Jamie, Helders hovered in the shadows, his gaze directed at Alex for the most part, sliding towards Cas and Barat, and then picking out Avery, who had arrived an hour earlier and been introduced to a very interested Barat. The Black Cat had gazed up at the Aussie as Alex had made introductions, and Kane’s face had been stormy as he watched the interaction. 

The entire time Jamie tried to get Helders’ attention, but it was no use. Somehow he kept missing Helders, and hadn’t been able to ask whether or not he’d spoken to Alex about what they’d talked about at the boxing gym earlier in the week. Kane had kept his entire company busy, making sure things for this evening would run smoothly, fetching guests from the airport as they arrived, and shuttling them about Venice. Now, with everything in place, the feeling of unease that had crept up on him that night Kane had visited him in the poolhouse was hard to shake. Helders seemed to sense it, too. In fact, the only ones who seemed to not have a care in the world, aside from the multitude of guests, were Alex, Avery, and Barat.

He moved down the stairs and into the thick of the guests, brushing aside laughing bodies that rolled and shook with the deafening music being pumped out of the sound system. He forewent a glass of champagne offered to him, dodged a couple making out against a pillar, and rounded the sunken living room before glancing up to where he’d last seen Helders. He found him still there, this time his focused trained right on Jamie, and Jamie frowned before raising an expectant eyebrow, and briefly cutting his gaze to Alex. When he looked back to Helders, Helders shook his head once, his mouth a stiff, grim line. Jamie read it as either he hadn’t talked to Alex yet, or he had and it hadn’t had much clout. 

Looking back to Alex, Jamie bided his time. The dark-eyed man seemed engrossed with whatever tale Avery was spinning, and it looked as though Alex was doing his best to keep Kane at his side, and keep him interested. Kane, on the other hand, was agitated, laughing too sharply when he looked at Avery, his jaw clenching every time Alex encouraged the Australian. As if sensing Kane’s distress, Cas suddenly swept in from the corner of the room and ejected Kane from the conversation. The two headed back towards the kitchen while Alex sighed, a little deflated, and glanced back up at Avery.

Jamie made his move then. He slipped away from a handful of people noisily arguing about which was better, yoga or pilates, and worked his way in beside Alex, standing just behind the smaller man.

“Might I borrow you?” he muttered, glancing at Avery who had paused his story to smiled condescendingly at Jamie.

Alex turned and curled his lip. “What,” he asked flatly. Across from him, Barat raised his eyebrow in interest, and took a sip of his champagne.

“We need to talk.”

Alex scoffed. “I’m busy.”

Jamie bit his tongue and took a breath. “Mr. Turner, it’s rather important,” he pressed, conveying urgency with his gaze.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Alex sighed, turning back to Avery and Barat.

“I assure you,” Jamie growled, placing a hand on Alex’s elbow, “it is.”

Alex scowled down at where Jamie grasped him. “Where do you get off?” he snarled, shaking free of Jamie’s hold.

“Oh, come now, Alex. Whatever Cook needs to tell you must be vital,” Barat smirked, his blue eyes sparkling.

Fuming, Alex excused himself from Avery and Barat. “Gentlemen, a moment please. It seems as though the _help_ has forgotten their manners.”

Jamie bristled, but said nothing as Alex led them away from the immediate party towards the bar where Alex ordered a scotch and soda.

“Now,” Alex muttered, drink in hand. “What exactly couldn’t wait until later, hmm? You embarrassed me, Cook.”

“Cut the crap, Alex,” Jamie snapped. Glancing around and making sure they weren’t seen, Jamie grabbed Alex’s elbow once more and steered him back towards a window casing against the back wall.

“Fuck - _Jamie_!” Alex hissed when he stumbled and upset his drink. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“ _Me_? You’re the one carrying on sounding exactly like Kane out there,” Jamie hissed.

Alex’s cheeks flamed and his jaw tightened, but any snappy retort he might have had left him when he met Jamie’s cool gaze.

Jamie went on. “You got your gun with you?”

“What?” Alex sputtered. “I - my gun?”

“Yeah, the one Kane doesn’t want you to leave the house with.”

Alex stood a bit straighter at the urgency in Jamie’s voice. “Aye. Yeah, I’ve got it on me,” and he pulled aside his pastel pink suit jacket to prove it.

Jamie nodded. “All right, look. I know you’re done hearing me talk, and I know you don’t want to listen, but Alex...something isn’t right. Something hasn’t been right since you met with Clarke.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “How do you know I met with Clarke?”

“Because Kane came asking after Clarke that same night. About Avery, too. What did your meeting entail?”

“We just…nowt. I mean...I told Miles it was just a welcome for Avery, a little more subdued than that first night at _Cato_.”

“And you didn’t talk about _anything_ else?”

Alex blinked as he looked away. “Maybe summat about future expansion-” Alex was paused as Jamie heaved an exasperated groan “-but I didn’t tell him that,” he clarified as he glanced at Jamie once more.

Jamie sighed, but he didn’t sound relieved. “For right now, don’t leave this room, not yet. No matter what happens, stay put. Talk to anyone that’s here, but don’t allow yourself to be led away by yourself for any reason.”

Alex glared at Jamie. “You gonna tell me what this is about?”

“If I knew the details, I’d share them with you. But until I do a bit of legwork around here, just for once, listen to me, all right? I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” He glanced Alex up and down once more. “You got the safety turned off on that thing?” he asked, vaguely gesturing to the gun under Alex’s jacket.

Fumbling, Alex reached and slid his thumb back over the switch, disengaging it. “I do now,” he replied.

“Good. Hopefully you won’t have to use it tonight, but don’t let your guard down. Wait for me to come back to you.”

Alex nodded, rattled by the grave tone in which Jamie spoke. Jamie looked at Alex a moment longer and then moved away from the window, towards the stairs, and up to the mezzanine level. Releasing a shaky breath, Alex stepped back into the crowd and smiled as best he could, trying to find his bearings.

A face suddenly bled out from the crowd, open and smiling. Zack Michael’s eyes brightened as he neared Alex, his pace quickening as he got closer.

“Al? Shit, is that you?” He stopped about a foot from Alex and looked him up and down, his eyebrows raised as he took in the sleek black slacks and button down shirt, and the pastel pink blazer that was obviously custom made. Shaking his head he looked back to Alex’s wide-eyed stare. “What the hell happened?” he chuckled.

“Zack,” Alex blurted out, blinking. “I heard you were back but-” Alex cut himself off with a shake of the head and let himself be pulled into an embrace in which he felt stiff, and awkward.

Zack noticed, too, because he backed off within seconds instead of hanging on with the back-clapping gusto they usually exchanged. “You...you okay?”

Alex nodded mechanically. “Yeah, absolutely.” He stared back as Zack raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“You sure?”

In the next moment Alex seemed to snap to attention, and he eased a smile to his face, nodding once more. “Yeah, mate, I’m fine.”

“Let’s go grab a smoke,” Zack suggested, trying to lighten the mood. “Catch up. Man, Vegas was wild, you shoulda been there, kid.” He motioned towards the patio.

Alex was about to follow, but he drew up short. Jamie had said not to be alone with anyone here but...surely he hadn’t meant Zack?

“Al?” Zack muttered, fishing his cigarettes from his pocket.

“Sorry, yeah. Just...remembering a conversation I had earlier. Let’s go. I’ll bring you up to speed with what’s been happening here, right?”

+

When Alex had finished giving Zack a recap of his days spent with Miles - the car, the clothes, the lunches, the meeting with Thomson - and had given him a run down of his meeting with Clarke, he watched as Zack processed everything that had been thrown at him.

“That’s...huh,” Zack exclaimed dumbly. “I mean..that’s...that’s great, Al, that Miles is letting you see some action.” He smiled weakly and looked down at the burning cigarette clutched between his knuckles.

“Right,” Alex snorted. “I wouldn’t exactly call it action, you know? I mean, it was crab bisque and pinot grigio at high noon with one of Fogarino’s men.”

“Yeah, but Clarke, man….that meeting with Clarke...how the fuck did you get Miles to agree to that?”

Alex shrugged. “He didn’t know. Not at the time, at least.”

Zack coughed and sputtered, and stared at Alex in disbelief. “Do you think that was wise?”

Again, Alex shrugged. “He’s the one that wants this to be a partnership. I just...I dunno, I wanted to show him that I can handle my shit, you know?”

“Yeah, but…”

“But nowt, Zack,” Alex growled, blowing out a stream of smoke before he stood from the chair he’d been perched on. He began to pace the patio, glancing back into the party every now and again. “This entire time I’ve been wiv Miles I’ve been...nowt but a decoration, Zack, do you understand? Pretty face, prettier trinkets, you know, I know you know. He buys me cars and jewellry and...an’ for what? I’m sick o’bein’ useless, o’bein’ expendable, you know?” He whirled then and looked at Zack. “I know you an’ him don’t see eye to eye, Zack. I’ve known that for a long time. I can trust you when I say this: Clarke sees summat in me, you know? That I didn’t know I had, or could do.” He frowned then, and looked down at his hands. “An’ he’s not the only one,” Alex added softly, more for himself than Zack.

“Alex,” Zack muttered, standing to block Alex’s next turn. “Hey, Alex, look at me. I get it. I do, and yeah, you can trust me with this but this thing that Clarke sees in you...do you know what this implies? Kid, if Miles can’t trust you...he has no use for you.”

Alex closed his eyes in disbelief and shook his head. “Zack, Mi can trust me, the same way I trust him.”

“You sure about that?” Zack muttered harshly.

“Implicitly,” Alex replied without hesitation.

With a silent nod, Zack conceded, and he pitched his cigarette to the interlocking patio blocks before crushing it under the heel of his boot. “Okay,” he breathed, reaching and clapping Alex on the shoulder. “Then I trust you.” He winked and moved towards the doors leading back inside. “Gonna go...get a drink...I’ll find ya later?”

Alex smiled softly, a little relieved at Zack’s decision. “Yeah, mate. Sure. Hey, I’m glad you’re here, Zack.”

Zack nodded and winked, and then was gone, slipping back into the party.

Alex followed a short while later, 

The night was beginning to wear on him. What was once the dull roar of several different conversations suddenly became irritable, a cacophony of shrill voices and raucous laughter coming at him from several different angles. The music seemed too repetitive, almost invasive, and his head was starting to throb. Slipping up to the bar he ordered tequila straight up, and felt in the inside pocket of his coat for the small vial he knew was there. A bump was in order, he was sure of it, and he glanced about the party once more, and saw Miles moving directly towards him, people moving out of his way as he approached. Passing Zack en route, Miles paused to chat, his glance slipping back to Alex every now and then as Zack continued his speech. Something Zack said brought Miles’ attention round and Miles peered down at him, before settling a hand on Zack’s upper arm and squeezing with another nod. He muttered something else, and then brushed past Zack, who was left to watch Miles’ back as he moved towards Alex. 

Alex’s heart thumped, excitement laced with bit of fear, every ounce of the emotions he’d felt the first time he’d ever lain eyes on the Scouser. “Mi,” he breathed when they were half a foot apart.

“There you, laa,” Miles grinned. It didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve been disappearing on me so much these last few days. C’mere.” Miles’ long arm looped around Alex’s neck and he yanked the smaller man towards him. “Just talked to Zack. Told me he supports you one hundred percent. That’s good news, ain’t it? Quit looking so fuckin’ glum, babeh. Come work the room with me, yeah? Let’s make sure everyone’s had a proper welcome.”

+

_“...and then if you hang on for eight seconds, well, you’ve got yourself a championship!”_

The crowd clustered around the clutch of couches just inside the patio erupted with laughter as Avery delivered the punchline to his joke. Another two bottles of champagne were uncorked, cigarettes were lit, and those gathered moved about get closer to the newest face among Clarke’s roster.

From where he was perched next to Avery, Alex tried to smile, but the sound of Miles’ cackle in his ear made him more alert than he cared to be, especially with the substances that were flitting through his veins. When Miles had found him after talking to Zack, they’d done a bump together in the main bathroom before Alex had proceeded to fall to his knees and show Miles just how much of a good time he was having. Through the chemical haze and the lingering taste of Miles on his tongue, Alex’s gaze searched for Helders, or even Jamie, but it seemed both of them had vanished.

“Now, you gotta level with me, Kane,” Avery was talking again, leaning past Alex to look at Miles who sat on Alex’s other side. “This young man of yours was rather elusive when I asked about your little vacation in Capri.”

Miles raised an eyebrow, looking at Alex questioningly. “Is that so?” he purred, sliding a possessive hand over Alex’s kneecap.

“All I hear is rumours, really, and I’d love to hear the whole story. Which one was it? The alligator or the crocodile?”

On a nearby couch Barat perked up, brushing aside a conversation he was having with Cas, and he leaned forward to listen. “Eh, what do you know, Kane - your reputation precedes you. I thought all the important people knew the story.” He snickered and eyed Avery pointedly.

Avery shifted and coughed, bristling at Barat’s comment, but ignoring him otherwise. “All right, I’ll admit it: I’m ignorant as fuck and only want to get to know the… way you handle things.”

Miles fingers tightened on Alex’s knee, and Alex tensed, glancing from Miles, to Avery - who was waiting rather expectantly - and back to Miles, whose expression had turned a touch sinister.

“Well, that seems to be the question of the week, doesn’t it, laa,” Miles grinned sharply, and looked to Alex. He then reached for the bottle of champagne sitting in ice next to the couch and leaned to top up the glasses of the men gathered there. He chuckled at the eager expressions, and felt a small flare of pride: he felt like a fucking scoutmaster around a campfire, really.

“I’ll play along.” He paused to light a cigarette, took a swallow of champagne, and then gave Avery the abridged version: “Homme fucked with the wrong man one too many times and found himself in the loving jaws of one very large, very _hungry_ croc named Ramone.” He took another drag of his cigarette and then exhaled a series of well-formed smoke rings, cocking his eyebrow at Avery in a silent challenge of all things.

Avery chuckled and shook his head, rubbing his palm over the dark, shorn hair on his head. “You don’t fuck around, do you?” He chuckled.

“If you want the details, might I suggest you talk to Valensi. He recorded the whole thing on his phone. He might still have it.”

“Yeah?” Avery asked, interest piqued at the idea.

“Mmm,” Miles nodded. “But...later, yeah? Christ, I don’t want to scare all of these nice friends of Barat’s that are here.”

Barat howled at this. “Like they don’t know who they’re dealing with!” He crowed, shaking his head. “But, you know, Miles, mon frere… I am just as eager for a screening as Avery. Perhaps when things have died down here we might...retire to the study upstairs? Make the party more private?”

+

The evening eventually began to wind down. As the majority of guests filtered out, Miles directed champagne, tequila, and whiskey to the games room upstairs. It was appropriate for a more intimate gathering with a pool table, leather couches, private balcony, television and sound system. The catering staff was dismissed shortly before the doors downstairs were locked, leaving Barat and his men, who were residing in the home during their stay, Fab, Cas, Helders, Cook, Zack, Miles, Alex, and Avery occupying the upstairs room. 

Valensi was hailed from his post, and, much to Avery’s delight, informed the crowd that yes, he still had the video of Homme’s death on the device, and he could most definitely patch it through the entertainment system. Champagne was uncorked, tequila was poured, lines were cut, and the men gathered round, some of them front row for their very first viewing. Barat was right there in the thick of it, though he’d seen it first hand, and once again back at his villa. Still he stared at the screen and grinned, cigarette burning at the corner of his mouth and cheering as onscreen Miles’ fists connected with Homme’s mug.

Alex slunk back, snorting a few lines and trying to ignore the sounds emitted from the screen, and the way Jamie was watching him. Each gurgle from Homme, and snarl from the croc made Alex’s fists clench, and by the time the video was done, he’d down three shots of tequila and was feeling the effects. Those that had been watching were no different, and Miles had sat perched on a leather armchair, amused by their antics and their enthusiasm, holding court while he bumped and rallied for the long night ahead.

When the men gathered began to break off into smaller groups to talk or play pool or darts, Miles moved again, this time wrapping a lanky arm around Avery’s midsection to steer him towards the bar where Alex lingered, and Zack smoked like a chimney. 

“Al, love, let’s get another round going, yeah?” Miles grinned, using his free hand to make a large, encompassing gesture that pointed to their immediate company. “Bumps and bruises.” He snorted and then cackled, and hauled Avery up to the bar with him. “You ever ‘ad one of Alex’s margaritas?” Miles asked, bleary eyed but still able to light his and Avery’s cigarettes with one flick of his thumb on the Zippo.

Avery shook his head. “No,” he laughed, smoke sailing from his lungs. “Should I have?”

“You haven’t _lived_ until you have,” Miles raved, motioning for Alex to put a few of the cocktails together. “Watch him work,” Miles droned on, draping his arm over Avery’s shoulder now, putting their heads together. 

The course of the evening had worked its way through Miles’ veins, it seemed, and if he’d been wary of Avery before, he certainly wasn’t acting like it now. Now, it looked as though they were the best of friends, attached at the hip, and Miles snickered at Avery’s commentary, while Avery made lame jokes and talked about French women, and his love of Utah. 

“I mean, could do well there,” Avery rambled on. “Don’t you think? They could use some shaking up in SLC.”

Miles snorted and shook his head. “I’m more interested in salt rims than Salt Lake at this point, mate. Look here,” he said, drawing Avery’s attention back to Alex. “He don’t even need the shot glasses. Does it all just by sight. Proportions are perfect, chilled to perfection, he doesn’t spill a drop - he knows exactly what he’s doing. At least when it comes to margaritas. But it’s more than just limes and tequila mate, isn’t it?” Miles asked, clapping Avery on the back. “Hmm?”

Alex listened and worked, aware that Miles and Avery were watching him. When he’d poured out glasses for the two leaning on the bar, Miles waved him to continue. “Go on, laa, an’ make a few more. Zack, c’mere, I know you love his margaritas.” Miles pushed off of the bar and snagged Zack, pulling him into place so that he flanked Miles on the other side Avery did. Then, Miles grinned and reached into his suit jacket, and pulled out twin vials, both stuffed with coke.

“A toast, boys,” Miles went on, dumping a measure of white powder into the crook behind his thumb before snorting quickly. He sniffed and shook his head, laughing as he passed the vial to Avery.

Zack declined, watching as Alex seemed far too invested in the making of margaritas. There was a tremor in his hand as he poured out two more glasses, and Zack made a point of brushing his fingers over Alex’s to get his attention. He raised a cautious eyebrow but Alex merely pursed his lips, and curled his fingers around his own glass as Miles spun back to the other men gathered in the room.

“A toast!” He crowed, lifting his glass. “But first, a speech.” He chuckled and waved a hand around the room. “Gather round, boys. Anyone need a refill?” He turned back to the bar and grabbed the champagne, handing it off to Meighan who proceeded to top up glasses as the men moved closer to the bar. “Alex, love, quit hiding behind the bar an’ come join me,” Miles called over his shoulder with a wink.

As Alex moved to obey, he watched Cook stand straighter, and Helders pushed away from the wall where he was leaning to edge closer to the semi-circle of guests that was forming. There were still waves of laughter and conversations among the group and Miles watched with an eager expression, his eyes sparkling, as the din died down and attention was turned towards him. Snagging Alex’s sleeve he hauled the younger man to stand beside him.

“Where you goin’, baby? Hmm? I told you, you an’ me, for everything,” he murmured, his gaze hot as he stared down into Alex’s eyes.

Alex opened his mouth to reply, but what could he say? That he didn’t want to be there? Half of him did; that half was ecstatic to be standing there at Miles’ side, all eyes on them. But the other half of his self curled away with an uneasy feeling. The recording of Homme’s death had struck him, no doubt about it, and memories of that night, and countless nights before and since, began to well and bloom in his veins. The anger at being denied that death was raw; in truth it had never left him, and it was as real as the night it had happened. He found himself looking from Helders, whose jaw tightened, to Cook, who seemed to be balanced on the balls of his feet.

“Gentlemen,” Miles began, “first of all, my sincerest thanks to all of you for joining us here tonight. I know I don’t speak for myself when I say I’m very glad to have Barat back here on American soil with us for a spell.” 

He paused as Barat nodded and raised his glass towards Miles in gratitude. “You know how to welcome a man, what can I say, mon frere?” 

“The pleasure is all mine, Carlos, I assure you.” Miles grinned and addressed the group once more. “I wanted him here - wanted you all here - because each and every one of you has put yourself on the line for me, in one manner or another, or you will very soon. I know that because I know your loyalties. I know your strengths and your weaknesses. I know how you all fit in. Well, all of you except for Mr. Avery here, eh?” He laughed then and heads swiveled to look at Avery who ducked his head and gave a small wave.

“Just hoping to prove my usefulness in some capacity,” Avery shrugged.

“I’m glad you said that,” Miles declared as he broke away from Alex and began moving about the room. “I”m glad you said that, Mr. Avery, because I hope for the same things. Not just from you, however.” Pivoting on his heel, he turned back to Alex. “By now you’ve all heard that Alex, my little diamond, is my right hand man. He’s gonna do great things, of that I have no doubt. He’s already done quite a bit, and even branched out on his own.” Miles chuckled darkly and stalked back to Alex, never breaking eye contact. “He’s come so far, but you see, he needs help with this next step, and I’m hoping for some volunteers.”

A questioning murmur went through the gathered men and they each began looking at the other, trying to determine what Miles was going on about.

“Cas,” Miles called as he moved in front of Alex and cupped his cheeks in his hands, “find me some volunteers.”

Alex was frozen, watching as Miles’ gaze turned hard, and cold. He was no stranger to that look, the unfeeling emptiness that came when Miles’ blood was up and his patience worn through. Behind Miles there was a scuffle, curses rising up, shouts, growls, grunts, howls of pain and dull thuds of fists driving against flesh. Chairs scraped over the floor as Cas moved among those gathered, his piece drawn. 

“Are you ready, laa?” Miles asked softly, his voice not matching his expression. He was almost vacant. 

Shaken, Alex’s heart pounded madly beneath his ribs. A cold sweat broke out across his shoulders, trickling down his spine, spreading under his arms and to his groin. Miles moved then, leaning down, and there came a perfunctory press of cold, unyielding lips against Alex’s mouth, the very action the furthest thing from a kiss. Miles’ fingers clutched Alex’s jaw for a moment and then slid down his chest, his right hand moving aside the left side of Alex’s jacket and sliding over the grip of his gun.

“This _is_ what you wanted, right?” Miles asked softly, tugging the gun out of the holster and holding it between himself and Alex. “A chance to prove yourself?”

Alex gaped. “Mi-”

“Sure it is. That’s what all the fuss was about. Well now. Here’s your chance.” Still holding Alex’s gun, Miles turned with a flourish, moving aside so that Alex could see what was laid out before him.

Sat in two chairs, facing each other no more than four feet apart, were Avery and Zack, each one held in place by Cas and Valensi, respectively, a gun trained on each. They’d both been gagged by bar towels and duct tape, hands zip-tied behind their backs; the whites of their eyes showed as they dared not move, but refused to let Miles out of their sight.

“Each and every one of you, by now, knows how much loyalty means to me,” Miles began, looking to his volunteers, and those gathered in a crowd behind them. “People say that I’ve gone off the rails, that I’m fuckin’ crazy-” he paused with a bit of a laugh, and Barat echoed it “-and I can’t argue with that. But you wanna know what made me this way? The fact that there is disloyalty in the ranks. There is dishonesty. That can’t happen, not on my watch, not with my money, my men, my business, or my life. I was shot six times, and had another attempt on my life because I didn’t see - didn’t see how the disloyalty has spread like an infection in this operation, gentlemen. Clarke knew Homme had tried to kill me. He knew this and willingly put Homme in my home.” He waved at the screen they had all been glued to half an hour before. “And we know how that ended. I won’t tolerate that in my home - and you are all a part of that.” 

Now, he turned back to Alex, and presented the gun to him, offered up in his palm. “So, show me where your loyalty is at, laa.”

Alex stared at the gun, his gaze then sailing to Miles’, before it swept to Avery, whose eyes were wide, and then to Zack who furrowed his brow in a show of contempt. Alex let out a breath. “Miles, what-”

“Oh, come on, Alex, it’s not that hard!” Miles cried, spinning Alex around until his back was pressed to Miles’ chest, Miles’ mouth hard against his ear as those long arms banded around him. “Two men put in my path by Clarke himself - Cameron Avery, and Zackery Michael. And one of them,” Miles growled, “is trying to tear me down.” Miles clamped his right hand over Alex’s wrist as he shoved the grip of the SIG into Alex’s palm. “I know what they’re saying about me, what they’re trying to do. Get rid of me. And you know what happens when I’m gone, baby? You’re gone, too. I know you don’t want that. You want to show me just how vicious you can be, baby, you wanna roll around in the mire with me? Wanna be on my level? Just pick one, and shoot him.”

“No,” Alex rasped, shaking his head, trying to move out of Miles’s hold. The terror that gripped him, however, was stronger, and he trembled even as Miles settled the gun in his hand more forcefully, and closed his hand over Alex’s.

“You’re stalling, Alex. You can’t hesitate in this life. It’ll get you killed.” Miles’ tone was soft, almost hypnotic. He pressed into Alex, his eyes fluttering closed as he smelled the fear rolling off the younger man in waves, acrid sweat to mix with the sweet cologne. Shifting his hips, he felt the first surge of arousal whip up his spine.

“Please, I can’t-”

“Can’t what? Prove your loyalty to me? Prove that you’ve got what it takes to run with the big dogs? It’s so easy, Alex. Look at the power you’re wielding right now.” His voice was low, almost groaning, and he encouraged Alex to look, to see all eyes trained on him.

Helders’ stare made Alex want to throw up. It hadn’t been so long ago that their roles were reversed, and Alex was standing on the outside, trying to plead with him to do something, to not let Miles go down that road, as...as Homme was pressed to his back. He shuddered at the sudden memory washing over him.

“No,” he mumbled again, his mouth numb, tongue not working.

“Yes,” Miles urged. “Oh, yes, baby. I know you’re scared, but that’s part of it - that fear. That tells you you’re still alive. You need to be alive, Alex, and if that means someone else dies, then so be it. That’s how it works.”

Alex’s breaths came in short, laboured gasps, and he heard himself whimper as Miles’ index finger pushed his own to curl around the trigger. Both hands wrapped around Alex’s grip, Miles gently swayed the gun from left to right.

“C’mon, now, laa Don’t keep us waiting any longer. The champagne is gettin’ warm. Who’s it gonna be?” Miles whispered. “Avery?” He swung the gun to the right. “Or Zack?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heads up kids: people die in this chapter. Important people.

_When the dream came this time it was red again, swirling and spattered, thick, hot, bubbling with anger. He was covered in it, head to foot, as he waded waist-deep into the pool in the backyard, the thing filled to overflowing with that coppery stench. Blood stuck at the webbing between his fingers; he felt it caked in his hair as he dragged his hands back and watched, the drops slowly sliding down the slope of that nose to drop soundlessly. He could taste it; the hot iron will and the gunpowder, and now the shot rang out and ripped through him so viciously that he was torn from the dream, but far from it._

Forcing his eyes open, Alex sat shaking on the mattress next to Miles, searching his hand for any trace of the stuff. Under his fingernails was clean. His hands, palms, wrists, arms, chest, all of it clean, and yet his skin crawled. Would his toes be stained with it like that first time?

He drew a sharp breath and blinked again, trying to make sense of red readout of numbers on the clock, and distantly he heard the rumble of thunder, and the white-noise made by the rain, endless now for two days.

Two days since-

_Zack’s face had been spattered with it, Miles’ plan to have them face each other made obvious when Alex hesitated with his piece directed at Avery. In that moment Alex had left his body as Miles dragged it to stand behind where Avery sat. Alex heard the muffled, desperate pleas, saw the whites of Zack’s eyes as they opened and he shook his head. “Not you, Zack,” Alex had wanted to say._

_He let his trigger finger do the talking._

_Or had it been Miles?_

“Now your prints are on the gun, baby,” Miles had rasped as Alex’s ears rang with the crack of the shot. 

The blood only served to make Cam’s already dark hair darker, and it stained his ivory suit something fierce. Zack’s favorite Boss blazer was ruined with the stuff, his Union Jack t shirt done-in as well. He’d pissed himself in fear, and hadn’t been able to look Alex in the eye as he stormed away with whatever dignity he’d had left.

Alex’s heart had sunk, and still he held the gun in shaking hands as Miles’ fingers drew back down his arm, that harrowing mouth still next to his ear.

“The first one is the hardest, Alex,” he’d explained. “It’ll just get easier from here on out.” Softly, the Scouser had then dragged a kiss to the corner of Alex’s mouth, which was wet from tears, before whispering, “Welcome to the club.”

+

“This is getting way out of hand, Cook,” O’Malley growled down the line. “I can’t decide what’s worse: another dead body, or the fact that you’ve fallen for Turner and can’t seem to figure out how to shut it down.”

“What the fuck was I supposed to do, Mal?” Jamie slid into a back booth at the Brickyard with his beer and took a long sip. “I make one move that goes against Kane and I’ll be strung up.”

“So sleeping with his boyfriend doesn’t count?”

“I’m going to ignore that,” Jamie snapped back.

“Good, it will go great with everything else you’ve failed to fucking notice. Look, we’re both running out of time, yeah? Banks is getting antsy, not to mention the whole department down here thinks that you’re milking this gig for all it’s worth.” 

“What did you find out about Avery?”

“Other than he’s dead?”

“C’mon, Mal, if you know something, don’t leave me in the dark.”

O’Malley sighed. “Australian authorities had a few things to say, nothing more than what would fit the bill of someone in Clarke and Kane’s company, but not enough to keep him from travelling overseas. He’s connected, Cook, he’s not just some up-and-coming like we thought. Intel puts him in Las Vegas about two weeks ago, and again twenty-four hours before he expired. Seems as though Sam Fogarino has taken him under his wing, as a favour to Clarke.”

“What?” Jamie hissed, setting his bottle down and hunching down into his booth. “Helders and Zack Michael were just in Reno scoping the place out, meeting with…” Cook trailed off and closed his eyes, filtering back through all of the intel he’d gathered just by simply listening from any and every convenient place. “Kane met with Fogarino’s man, Thomson, three days before Barat’s party.”

There was a long silence on Mal’s end, then: “You think Kane is trying to buy out Fogarino’s share behind Clarke’s back?”

Jamie rubbed his temples. “If he was, he’s blown it now. Fuck, Fogarino is one of Clarke’s best; brought him up to take care of things when Homme expired. If Avery was being groomed and was working for Fogarino under Clarke’s direction-”

“Then whoever killed Avery is as good as dead,” O’Malley finished. 

“Avery was shot by Alex’s gun,” Jamie admitted softly.

“Yeah? Who pulled the trigger?”

Jamie’s eyes squeezed shut as he replayed the events from two nights prior. For what it was worth, yes, Alex’s finger had been on the trigger, but it was Miles who had pulled it. No matter. Alex’s prints would be on it; they’d match the bullet, pull the prints, and Jamie was witness to the whole event. Anything he said in defense of Alex would be laughed out of the interrogation room.

“I’m waiting Cook,” O’Malley barked. 

“Alex,” he finally muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “It were Alex.”

O’Malley chuckled ruefully. “Christ, you sure know how to pick em. All right, I’ll apply for the warrant, you try to keep out of trouble.”

“Mal, wait - it’s more complicated than that, we can’t just...we can’t just barge in and sweep Alex out now, to do so will put the whole operation on alert. I’ll be compromised; you think these guys will just sit around and wait once they find out I’m DEA? C’mon, use that big fuckin’ brain you’re always bragging about. They’ll disappear, and I’ll be lucky to make it out alive.”

O’Malley sighed. “What’s the plan?” he groused reluctantly.

“Give me until next week,” Jamie answered hurriedly.

“Are you fucking insane, Cook? Did I hear you right? Did you just ask me for another week to work on this? Christ, you’ve been planted for over three years gaining intel on these assholes-”

“So what’s another week?”

“The bodies are piling up, or did you fail to notice that, too? And I’m not just talking about the innocent bystanders, Jamie, or the two-bit dealers and mules. Big names. Huge cases. Joshua Homme, Cameron Avery, the Morrison Brothers, fucking Jesse Hughes - one of our own! Do you know how wide we could have blown this case open already? Offshore accounts, overseas operations, literally hundreds of _billions_ of dollars in weapons and drugs and Christ knows what else.

“Now look,” O’Malley said a few moments later. “Turner is close to Clarke - you’ve said it yourself in a few reports that Clarke has taken a liking to the kid, and so has Barat. Did you ever consider that he’s not so much in danger of being groomed by Kane, but by Clarke himself? He’s pushing seventy, Jamie, and he has no family. He was never gonna give that business to Kane, anymore than he was gonna give it to Homme. They’re not his style. Alexander Turner? _That_ is his style.”

It felt as though Jamie’s lungs had collapsed as O’Malley’s words struck him in the chest. Fuck, was it that obvious? How had Jamie missed that much?

_Cuz you were too busy trying to save him from the wrong people_ , a voice snapped back.

“You there, Cook?”

“Yeah,” Jamie croaked before draining his beer.

“It’s gonna take a bit of time to get an arrest warrant arranged.” O’Malley let that sink in before he continued, “Without any hard evidence outside of your own account, and the fact that Clarke probably has his fingers in the robes of a few judges on the bench, I’m gonna need a fuckin’ miracle.”

Jamie breathed out. He kept his voice steady as he asked, “What are you saying?”

“Stay with Turner, as _difficult_ as you may find it,” O’Malley droned, sarcasm evident.

“Fuck off,” was Jamie’s curtly replied.

O’Malley ignored him. “Don’t let him out of your sight. He’s way too valuable.”

“He won’t...I can’t guarantee he’ll testify, Mal. By law, he doesn’t have to.”

“Trust me, Cook. You keep him alive, I’ll get him downtown, and then we’ll see how fast he’s begging for a plea bargain.”

+

The shrill, insistent ringing of the phone pulled Miles from a thick, dreamless sleep, and he lay staring at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating if he should pick it up or let it go. There was a good chance that Cas would pick it up, and as soon as the thought flitted through his mind the phone was silenced. Miles reached blindly onto his night stand for his cigarettes; his other hand slid over the sheets only to come up empty handed.

Again.

He lit a cigarette and sighed, smoke pluming upward, before lifting his fingers back to rub at his eyes. What was that he’d heard once? The tighter the grip, the more things slipped through your fingers. And he was losing his grip on Alex, he was sure of it. He thought without a doubt that Alex would finally get it, would finally understand what this was all about but when that trigger had been pulled, Avery hadn’t been the only thing snuffed out.

Was it too late for damage control? It almost seemed like a lost cause at this point. Going to track Alex down would be a futile, desperate exercise, and Miles hadn’t sank to that level quite yet.

He tuned in to the noises of the mansion. It was raining again, or still; it had been since the sun rose the morning after Barat’s party. The muffled thump of music came from across wing where Alex’s bedroom-turned-studio was. Fumbling on his bedside once more, Miles picked up his watch, and frowned at the late morning hour. If Alex had been up all night again, he’d pass out within the hour, and sleep well into the late afternoon, only to come haunt the lower levels after the sun had begun to set. The faraway sound of the landline ringing began, and Miles groaned inwardly. Whoever was trying to get a hold of him was relentless.

A quick, modest knock sounded on Miles’ bedroom door, and he fought to sit up as he croaked, “Come in.”

Cas entered a moment later, cordless handset to the landline clutched in one hand, his palm pressed over the microphone as he held it out to Miles. “Fogarino,” he mouthed, raising an eyebrow.

Miles hastily blew out his last lungful of smoke, and stabbed the cigarette into the ashtray on the bedside. He then held his hand out for the phone.

“Sam,” Miles greeted steadily, swinging himself to the edge of his mattress and snapping his fingers at Cas. He pointed out his black kimono and indicated it be brought to him. “I was beginning to think Thomson hadn’t relayed my message.” With the phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder, he slipped the kimono on and stood, tying the belt.

“What message?” Fogarino growled on the other end.

Miles felt his bones grow cold. “I’m sorry?”

“That’s a start,” Fogarino snapped. “A very sad start, but I’m listening.”

Miles chuckled and ran a hand over his hair, turning to the window and lowering his voice, very much aware that Cas was within earshot. “I met with Thomson last week and I laid out a proposal that he assured me he’d relay back to you.”

“Must have slipped his mind,” Fogarino replied. “Now, then, you were apologizing.”

"I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to…?”

“How was your evening the other night? Barat’s party? I wasn’t there so I was wondering if you might fill me in on the details.” 

Fogarino’s voice was like steel, and Miles fought to ignore the sharp edge of it. “If you’re upset there was no invitation extended to you or your men, again, my apologies. It were a bit last minute. And had Thomson done his job, we would have spoken well beforehand, and I would have had opportunity to extend an invitation at that time.”

There was a pause before Fogarino replied. “I’m quite certain that being... _snubbed_ by the likes of you is hardly worth a phonecall, Kane.”

“Then might I ask what your reason is? Perhaps you’d like me to fill you in on what Thomson and I discussed last week? I feel like it’s very much in your favour.”

“You think you’ve got everything all figured out, don’t you, you ignorant little pissant.”

Miles’ eyes widened at the insult, and his blood began to prickle in his veins. “Careful, Sam.”

“Don’t you fucking talk to me about being careful, Kane. I had one of my men at your party. A good man.”

Whirling from the window, Miles glared at Cas as if he might shed some light, even though he hadn’t heard a word. Cas blinked, and took a step back, unsure of his employer’s expression. Miles exhaled sharply and gripped the phone, slipping his thumb over the mouthpiece. For good measure, he buried it against his shoulder and then hissed at Cas.

“One of Fogarino’s was at Barat’s party,” he growled lowly.

Cas shook his head, clearly confused. “I don’t know who it could be-”

“Fucking find out!” Miles snapped before returning to the phonecall. He cleared his throat as Cas slipped out of the room. “All right, Sam, what are you-”

“Don’t bother wasting the manpower to find out who it was. It makes little difference, when he’s already dead.”

Miles’ stomach plummeted to his feet. “I’m sorry?”

Fogarino snorted. “Yeah, you said that already. So tell me another one, Kane.”

Miles let out a sharp breath, and another. “I...I don’t know-”

“That’s the whole problem, isn’t it? You don’t know _shit_. You don’t know anything about this organization or how it runs or how to put up and shut up. A man of mine is dead, Kane, and that leaves me short handed in several ways. I want compensation, and you’re going to give it to me. So here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to pack a fucking bag and get your ass on the next flight out to Vegas so you can tell me to my fucking _face_ why the hell Cam Avery is dead.”

+

For once, Alex wasn’t painting. Instead he sat cross-legged on the plush cream carpet of his bedroom surrounded by a circle of canvases all depicting the same image. He smoked, and he stared, glancing from surface to surface, surveying the colours of each piece, and the shadows within. He was trapped by this nightmare that threatened to close in on him, made that much more real by the events from three nights ago. 

In an attempt to drown out the melancholy sound of the seemingly never ending rain Alex had reverted to playing his music at an almost impossible decibel. Cocaine hadn’t worked, an Ambien nap hadn’t done anything but make him lose time, and alcohol was useless. He needed to face this head on.

He’d killed a man; a man who hadn’t necessarily deserved it, not at that moment, and not like that. He’d actually liked Avery, despite the uneasy feeling that had descended on the meeting with him and Clarke.

Had he put that impression on Miles? Had he...had his transgressions, his agreement to meet Clarke and Avery in secret put Avery in danger? Alex worried his lip as he concentrated on the burning end of his cigarette. He’d fucked up, he was certain, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something else had shifted, too.

He became aware of his phone vibrating in the chest pocket of his shirt; the subwoofer of his sound system rattled his chest and so he almost missed it. He wiggled the device from his pocket and checked the caller ID.

John Cooper Clarke was calling on him, and for once, Alex wasn’t surprised by it.

In fact, he’d almost expected it. He reached for the remote and turned the volume down considerably, and then answered the call.

“Lo?”

“Alex,” Clarke greeted warmly. “How are you, lad? Keeping well?”

“Well enough, Sir, thank you,” he mumbled.

“Where’s that brave, enthusiastic man from last week gone? You sound like someone kicked your puppy. Or are you the one still being kicked?”

“In a way, perhaps,” Alex replied.

“Something on your mind, son?”

“No, Sir. Sorry, Sir. How can I help you?”

“There’s been a few changes to my initial plans, I’m afraid. We need to meet again, as soon as possible.”

Alex frowned and shook his head, and then realized that Clarke couldn’t see him. “I - I don’t think that would be a very good idea, Mr. Clarke.”

“John,” Clarke replied. “Call me John. And I disagree, Alex, it is of utmost importance that we meet.”

“Miles was furious when he found out we met last week.”

“I’m well aware. That’s why I’ve taken the liberty of occupying Mr. Kane for next few days. As we speak, I have no doubt that he’s packing a bag and booking a last minute flight to Las Vegas.”

The call was interrupted by Miles bursting into the room, agitated and tense.

“We’re goin’ to Vegas, laa,” Miles declared. “Hang up with whomever you’re speaking and pack a bag.”

Clarke, having heard Miles’ direct orders, said to Alex, “Give the phone to Mr. Kane, Alex.”

Still seated on the floor, Alex looked up at Miles with wide eyes as he extended his arm and offered the phone to Miles. In turn the Scouser frowned. “What?”

“It’s John,” Alex answered.

“John?” Miles echoed, scowling.

“Cooper-Clarke,” Alex continued.

With a sneer Miles snapped up the phone and held it to his ear. “Good morning, Mr. Clarke - or are we calling you John now?”

As Miles turned his back to Alex and continued his conversation with Clarke, Alex rose and moved to his closet, already mentally choosing clothes to fill a small suitcase. Behind him Miles’ voice rose as he began arguing with Clarke.

“What? He’s coming with me, I’m not...what do you mean? Yes, I’m well aware - _what_?” The tension torqued his words and he spun then and stared at Alex who had glanced back at Miles with his latest exclamation.

Alex didn’t like the look on Miles’ face one bit - it wasn’t one he was very familiar with, but he could tell it was uneasy.

“You can’t expect me to leave him here unattended to...No, I’ll be bringing Cas with me-” He was cut off once more by a rapid fire from the other end, but Alex couldn’t make out the words. Miles squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled shakily, before nodding, and eventually relenting. “Yes, Mr. Clarke. I understand. Of course. Yes.” He held the phone out to Alex once more. “Wants to talk to you again.”

Alex caught the phone as it slipped out of Miles’ grip and he watched Miles brace his hands on the window sill, shoulders bunched as he stared out into the gloomy Pacific sky.

“Sir?” Alex asked cautiously.

“Miles is on the next flight out to Vegas. Mr. Helders and Mr. Casablancas will accompany him. You’ll be under the protective watch of Cook and the remainder of his men until further notice.”

“I...Yes. All right,” Alex murmured softly.

“We’ll be in touch.” Clarke then ended the call.

Alex set the phone on the bed before he looked at Miles. “This has summat to do with the other night, don’t it?”

Miles shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, laa-”

“Don’t worry about it?” Alex echoed, blinking widely. “Miles, a man is _dead_. I fucking - I…”

“You _killed_ him. What’s the matter, Al? Can’t say it? Too much to handle? Fuck, I _knew_ this was a bad idea from the start, the moment Clarke let you hand pick a team to replace Homme-”

“Homme needed to be replaced, or did you forget he tried to kill you? _Twice_?” Alex’s lip curled in distaste. “You know what? Fuck you, Miles. Everything I’ve done from the very beginning has been for you. From the clothes and the role of your obedient little bitch to first degree murder, your ‘second in command’. This was never about equal partnership. This was about your ego and now you’ve gone too far-”

Miles lunged, attempting to strike Alex across the mouth, to silence him, cow him, just make him see that he still had control, but Alex was quicker, and anticipated the attack. He ducked and stepped aside, and shoved Miles back in the process.

Not one to be trounced by his lover, Miles reared up, gripping the front of Alex’s shirt, and hauled him back into the wall next to the door. Alex’s hand swung out only to be slapped away by Miles, and he pressed into Alex, forehead to that sharp jaw, no wit about him to fight or make it physical.

“Stop it, Al,” Miles growled, pushing against Alex once more.

“No. No, all I’ve ever done is stop, all I’ve ever done is obey and I’m done, d’ya hear? What the fuck is the point?”

“Al - you need to listen _now_.” The Scouser’s tone was one of warning.

“Why the fuck should I?” Alex roared, his fingers sharp in the shoulders of Miles’ suit jacket.

“Cuz Fogarino wants you dead.”

Alex slumped back against the wall with a pitiful laugh. “Wot?”

With a huff of frustration, Miles left off of Alex and raised his hands to smooth over his hair as he began pacing the floor “He wants blood. Avery was his man. I...I didn’t know, and now he wants whoever was responsible strung up.”

Another bubble of laughter rose to the surface and exited Alex’s mouth, and he leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling with a sigh. “Oh my god,” he breathed, covering his face with his hands.

“Did you know?”

Alex pulled his hands away from his face, features screwed up in anger. “Wot?”

Miles clenched his fists and went for Alex again, this time catching him at the upper arms and wheeling him back against the door. “Did you know Avery was working for Fogarino?”

Alex sputtered. “How can you even ask that?”

The fingers around Alex’s upper arms tightened to the point of actual pain. “I dunno, Alex, you’re the one having secret meetings with Clarke and Avery - you sure something didn’t slip out then?”

Narrowing his eyes, Alex drew in a shaking breath and hissed, “Go fuck yourself, Miles.”

MIles roared, pulling away, and he panted as he paced back and forth once more. “ _Fuck_ , I dunno, laa, I _dunno_. Christ things are screwed.”

Alex stared for a moment. He’d never heard Miles like this - he sounded almost panicked.

“But I’ll take care of it,” Miles was quick to repeat. “Don’t I always?”. Miles moved toward Alex, and took his face in his palms and held him firmly as he spoke. “I’ll take care of it. It’s not like I haven’t been here before-”

“ _I_ haven’t, Mi,” Alex murmured. He scowled, helpless, and shrugged out of Miles’ hold and eyed him coldly. “What’s to keep Fogarino from killing you?”

Miles gaped. “You’re not suggesting I’d tell them it was you?”

Alex twisted out of his grasp. “A moment ago you were accusing me of knowing Avery worked for Fogarino! I wouldn’t put it past you!”

“No,” Miles hissed, blocking Alex from moving further away from him. “No, I wouldn’t do that - I _couldn’t_ do that, Alex. Baby. Laa.” He moved a piece of hair from Alex’s dark eyes. “I love you. And I need you. Right now I need you to be safe. That’s why I’m leaving you here with Cook.”

“Mi, the last time you took off you ended up getting shot six times.”

“That were different. This is planned. Clarke knows that this is a set meeting, and Fogarino wouldn’t dare try anything.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because hurting me hurts you, and Clarke likes you.”

Alex scowled. “So that’s what I am, then? Useful as...as what, a bargaining chip? A way to keep you from ending up dead?”

Miles heaved a frustrated sigh and shook his head. “Alex. Let me bring you up to speed. Clarke likes you, and he’ll listen to you. I told you that charm of yours would come in hand. Now is the time. Everything is riding on your ability to keep him thinking that there is order here. You’re holding down the fort.”

Desperation was evident in Miles’ wide-eyed expression, and he nodded emphatically as Alex tried to shake his head. “This is anything but in order, Miles. You’ve crossed a line and you’re dragging me wiv you-”

“Shhhh,” Miles whispered. “You got this. An’ I got you.” His hands slid up Alex’s neck to cup his face once more. After a flicker of hesitation he moved in to kiss Alex.

Alex tilted his chin up, avoiding Miles’ attempt. “You’d better get moving, then,” he started, and then swallowed thickly. “If you’re to be there by this evening.”

Miles followed Alex’s hand is it wandered to the door handle, but Miles stopped him, and threaded their fingers together. With a tug he then brought Alex close enough to breathe in the scent of his clothes, his hair. His other hand gripped the back of Alex’s neck so that they might look at one another.

“Tell me you love me, laa,” Miles implored.

Laying his hand over Miles’ where it rested on his neck, Alex drew in a shaky breath. “I love you,” he parroted. It felt foreign on his tongue.

“I’ll be back,” Miles said before slipping down the hallway.

+

There was a thin reed of tension splitting the mansion, lifting it from where it was imbedded in delusions of grandeur when Jamie returned from the Brickyard. For lack of a better term, the scene was chaotic, with Miles sweeping down the stairs as he finished dressing hurriedly, Helders in tow carrying two small bags. For once it wasn’t Cas dogging Miles’ steps and as Miles moved through the house toward the lower levels, Jamie caught up with Helders’ pace.

“Mr. Kane?” Cook called hesitantly, catching Helders’ worried expression as it flitted over his stony features.

Miles paused as he worked open the door to his office and glanced back over his shoulder. “Good. You’re back.” The door opened and he moved into his office, Helders and Jamie in tow. “Something’s come up, an’ I need you here with Valensi an’ Fab holding the place.”

Jamie cocked his eyebrow up as Miles dug through his desk drawers, locating a leather-bound book, before he turned to the cabinet that ran along the wall behind his desk. This required a key, too, and he unlocked it before pulling the doors wide, revealing an array of firearms that Jamie was fairly certain he didn’t have a permit for.

“When you say ‘something’...” Jamie drawled, looking to Helders once more. 

For his part, the ex-boxer said nothing, did nothing, moved nothing save for the tick in his jaw.

Putting his hand to his mouth, Miles perused his arsenal and then began pulling his smaller pistols, checking their sights and their balance before selecting five, and setting them out for Helders to collect.

“I’ve gotta go to Vegas,” Miles continued, voice distracted as he opened the book he’d pulled from his desk, and copied down information into his phone. “Last minute meeting with Fogarino,” Miles murmured before rapidly tapping the keyboard on his screen.

“Sir?” Jamie asked tightly. “With Fogarino?”

“Hmm. Apparently Avery was on Fogarino’s payroll, in a manner of speaking.”

Jamie pretended to be surprised, though it didn’t take much. He was still reeling from everything Mal had told him earlier. Still, he proceeded with caution. “What about Alex?” He asked, looking to Helders who was finally looking his way. Jamie raised an eyebrow at Helders in silent askance: _Do you know what you’re getting into?_

Helders gave a stiff nod just before Miles turned round to face Jamie. “Alex?”

Jamie’s heart had begun to thump erratically when Miles mentioned ‘Fogarino’; pulling weapons had only caused that heart rate to increase. He couldn’t be thinking of taking Alex with him on this-

“Alex is staying here, too. Under your watch.”

It was all Jamie could do to keep from sagging in utter relief. Still, the idea of Miles leaving the state armed to the teeth made Jamie wary. “Are you sure it’s wise going into Fogarino’s with your guns blazing?”

“You have a better plan?”

“Let him come to you,” Jamie shrugged.

Miles shook his head. “No.” He closed the cabinet and secured the lock again. “No, no, no,” he continued. “I’m not inviting that in. Not with Alex here.” He turned and nodded at Helders, and took one of the bags from him, checking the contents.

“It’s your turf, all of your men are here, and this place can be locked down tight. You can hold your ground.”

“You’re talking like this is going to be a war, Cook. You know something you’re not telling me?”

Jamie pressed his lips together. “Look, it might not be a war, Mr. Kane, but what you’re doing is suicide.”

Miles chuckled and pulled a SIG from the bag, inspecting it once more. “I like to call it ‘aggressive negotiations.’”

+

“So you’re going again.”

Helders looked out from behind the open trunk of the town car and watched as Alex stepped down into the garage from the house. 

The sound of the driving rain outside the open ports almost drowned out Alex’s words, but Helders caught them anyway, and shrugged. “Suddenly Mr. Kane seems to think that I’ll just as good a job as Cas.” He shoved a bag into the trunk and then grasped the other from where it rested on the floor.

Alex nodded and lit a cigarette, and smoked in the awkward silence that hung between him and the ex-boxer. There’d never been moments like this before; Helders and he got on like brothers, or extremely close cousins, at least, and now they seemed almost strangers.

“I...I’m sorry, you know. For everything,” Alex said after a moment. “If I had just been able to...I dunno, to do summat right away, like, when Homme-” His voice snagged and he took another hasty drag of his cigarette.

Helders dropped the other bag into the trunk and slammed it closed. “Wot?” He peered at Alex in disbelief as he rounded the fender and came to lean on the side of the car, facing Alex. “Are you serious right now?”

Alex shrugged. “I’m...I’m not over it yet, you know?”

“No one expects you to be,” Helders replied, shaking his head. “Not after summat like that, not so quickly.”

“It...doesn’t even feel like it happened to me. Like it were someone else.” He shook his head, steeling his resolve. “It were someone else. Seems like forever ago.” When he looked back up at Helders, Alex’s eyes were dark and sober. “I don’t know what I would have done without you that night, Matthew. An’ every night after.”

Helders put it simply. “It’s me job, Alex.”

“Nah,” Alex chided, shaking his head. “You put on a good facade but...Helders, you can’t fool me. You’ve gone above and beyond anything in the job description. You always have. Right from the get go. Even when Cook and his men showed up you were there for me.”

“Al-”

“An’ I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you sooner,” Alex continued, talking over Helders’ attempt to deflect. A watery smile flooded his lips and he shrugged. 

“You gettin’ emotional on me now?” Helders muttered, pushing off the car and clapping a hand to his narrow shoulder. “I get it. I do, Alex, or I try to. I can’t imagine this life being easy, ever, but you’re always the highlight of the day, no matter how stubborn or severe.” He grinned then, dimples showing. “Between you an’ me, I’m more in this for you than for Kane.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Alex muttered, his smile intensifying.

“Reckon you’re not too concerned about that, though. You can hold your own. Or, you’re learning to. Relearning, maybe.” Fondness crept into Helders’ tone. “You were a right scrapper the first night I lay eyes on you. My money was on you taking at least one of those guys out.”

Alex made a face. “I got soft.”

“You got sheltered,” Helders emphasized. “You didn’t have to defend yourself when Kane came into your life. It’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“An’ now?” Alex asked softly. “Now that...like…” he gestured to himself, and the transformation he’d gone through.

“People change,” Helders replied. “Some more than others. Some for better or worse.”

“Which is it?’ Alex asked, blinking at Helders. “Better or worse?”

“Better,” Helders replied without hesitation. “You’ll always be better, better than me, than him, than any former version of yourself. You’re surviving. That takes brass, mate. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

Alex’s response was a genuine smile, rare, and it lifted Helders’ mood considerably.

“You gonna be okay here?” Helders asked a few minutes later, eyeing Alex carefully. “I know that you’re taking...things hard. It isn’t easy, what you’re going through. And it doesn’t get any easier.”

Alex snorted and glanced out into the rain. “Miles says it does.” The words were acid on his tongue, and he sneered and pitched the rest of his cigarette out into the open. “I’m beginning to wonder if that were me biggest mistake: listening to him.”

“You’re gonna find that you’ll drive yourself insane with all the ‘what-ifs’ in your life. Look at me. What if I’d stayed with boxing? Become a trainer, or a manager? Would I be any happier looking at things from ringside?”

“More than you’re doing now?” Alex quipped.

“Fook off,” Helders laughed, nudging Alex with his shoulder. “You know I can hold my own.”

“That’s why I trust you,” Alex agreed. “Miles does, too, you know. When it comes right down to it. He’s like a kid wiv a new toy at Christmas, yeah? Cas is the newer model, flashy, a novelty, maybe a few more features but you’re his go-to. Mine, too.”

“And Cook?” Helders ventured, watching for Alex’s reaction.

The smaller man furrowed his dark brows and rubbed a palm on the underside of his chin. “He’s good at his job,” Alex replied slowly.

“He’s the best, or Clarke seems to adhere to that notion at least. Doesn’t make me trust him anymore.”

“I’m beginning to think you don’t trust anyone wiv me, save you.”

Helders sighed. “I trust him more than Cas, and that’s enough.” Helders glanced up to the door leading back into the house as it opened. “Here’s your man now.”

Alex turned and watched as Jamie stood in the doorway, silently vigilant, looking from him, to Helders, and back to him.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Helders murmured, stepping away from the car towards the door.

Jamie stepped down onto the floor of the car port, his gaze still fixed on Alex. It was the first time since Avery’s death that he’d been this close to the man, and as the door closed signalling Helder’s departure, Jamie realized it was the first time he’d been alone with Alex in a long time. He let out a breath as he studied the dark-eyed man. He seemed to be teetering on a very fine ledge, and Jamie wasn’t sure when he’d tip, or which way he’d go.

“So Vegas,” Jamie started lamely.

Alex nodded slowly. “Aye.”

“You’re upset by this?” 

It was an honest question, seemingly innocent, but Alex bristled as Jamie once again said everything in the least amount of words possible. Yes, it was upsetting but he couldn’t quite figure out why. He shrugged, feeling neutrality was the best answer.

Jamie nodded. “It’s only a few days,” he started. “But, eh...I’ve been given strict instructions to not let you outta me sight.” He gave a small smile, testing the waters.

One dark eyebrow rose in an elegant arch as Alex regarded Jamie. “Really,” he replied.

Jamie shrugged. “Honestly, Alex, I don’t think it’s such a bad decision.”

“Yeah? This another one of his ideas? Or yours?”

“I’m not gonna spend the next few days arguing with you on this, Alex. Let me put it to you bluntly: Fogarino wants you dead.”

Alex sneered. “Tell me summat I don’t already fookin’ know.”

Jamie blinked, surprised at Alex’s flippancy. “This doesn’t bother you?”

Throwing his hands up, Alex sighed. “It’s not like there’s owt I can do, is there, Jameh? I shot a man, an’ now Miles has to go an’ try an’ smoov fings over.”

“I fail to see the problem,” Jamie pointed out, watching as Alex wandered up and down the car port floor.

“I’m still his fucking...I’m still his to _keep_. His to control.” He pushed his hands back through his hair and then looked up at the other man. “Fuck, Jamie, I didn’t really pull that trigger - I couldn’t. _He_ did it. But he doesn’t see it that way. I’m an extension of him, the gun in his hand in this case. So to answer your first question: yes. I’m upset. About this, about the fact that I killed a man, and that Miles is leaving, and that someone out there wants my blood and I have no way to defend myself.” He stopped then, and drew a deep breath. “‘Upset’ isn’t even close to how I’m feeling. I’m...” he paused and looked at his hands. “I’m shaking.” He held his hands up for Jamie to see before he went on. “I’m backed into a corner, I didn’t have enough sense to listen to Helders, or to you, or myself. To know my self worth.”

“Alex,” Jamie interrupted, moving into his path. Without thinking he put his hands over Alex’s shaking ones. Alex flinched, but he didn’t pull away, and Jamie spoke softly. “You said it yourself, you’re his thing, an object, something for him to put on a shelf and use at his whim. You _know_ this. And you know now that you don’t want it. I think you’ve always known it, you just didn’t want to admit it. You needed to want something else more than this.”

Alex’s mouth twisted into a humorless smile. “Still trying to be a white knight, Jamie?”

Jamie smiled back. “Still time to save you.”

Alex blinked and tilted his head, and the light overhead caught his face in a way that softened the gaunt lines of his cheeks and jaw, and made him look years younger. It was almost heartbreaking, and Jamie felt his cheeks flush with heat, as well has his body. Beneath his hands Alex’s flexed and turned so that their fingers and palms slipped against one another.

“Thought you said you weren’t here to save me?” Alex murmured. The feel of Jamie’s skin on his after so long was almost too much for him to handle.

“I’m not,” Jamie breathed. “You’re gonna save yourself, Alex.”

Alex nodded and then realized he’d been staring up into Jamie’s eyes for far too long. His fingers twitched against Jamie’s and he moved to pull back but Jamie caught him and held his hands for another moment. That blue gaze wandered down to Alex’s mouth for a split second, and just as Alex took a breath Jamie was pulling away, as if suddenly waking from a trance. 

“I should go,” he said softly.

Alex nodded, bereft as Jamie’s touch dissolved. “You keep sayin’ that,” Alex replied. “But you never really get that far, do you? Just out of reach.”

“It’s a safe distance,” Jamie replied.

“Is that what you’re telling yourself?”

Jamie didn’t say anything, but he let loose a humored breath, and gave a half-hearted nod. “Summat like that.”

“Why are you here?” Alex suddenly asked.

“Wot?” Jamie blinked.

With a chuckle, Alex shrugged. “I mean, why are you out here? Obviously you came to find me for a reason.”

“I just...wanted to check on you. See how you were doing.”

Alex nodded. “Thank you for that.” He scratched the back of his head and glanced back to the door leading into the house. “I should probably...go say goodbye an’ whatnot.”

“Yeah,” Jamie nodded. He watched Alex ascend the stairs and push the door open before giving one more glance back.

“Got me all to yourself for the next few days, then,” Alex murmured as his eyebrow curled mischievously. “Think you can keep me outta trouble?” Without waiting for an answer he was gone, leaving Jamie to sag against the car parked behind him.

This was not good, Jamie realized. He pulled out his phone, thumbed a quick secure trace code, and sent an urgent text to O’Malley.

O’Malley replied within seconds: _**Warrant in process. Proceed with orders from Kane. Keep it professional.**_

Jamie swore and deleted the thread, and tucked the phone back into his pocket. “Easier said than done, Mal,” he growled, before following the path Alex had taken back into the house.

+

_“When you get back I think...I think we need to talk, Mi. About this. About us.”_

_Miles looked up as he slid his suit jacket on and frowned. “The fuck you on about now?” He didn’t have time for this. His flight to Vegas was leaving in just over an hour._

_“I mean like...us, Miles. You an’ I.”_

_“What’s there to talk about, yeah?” Miles sputtered. “You’re in this with me, right? That’s what you wanted - that’s what this is all about. So now you’re here with me.”_

_Alex huffed and raked his fingers through his hair, and opened his mouth to reply, but Cas entered the landing, having just come up from the car port. “Mr. Kane? We should be leaving right away.”_

_“Right, yeah, I’m comin’,” Miles growled, still glaring at Alex. He waited until Cas left to continue. “C’mon, laa, don’t do this to me, not now, right? I gotta stay focused on this, and the outcome. An’ when I get back we’ll talk, we’ll work things out, an’ we’ll be laughin’, Al, baby, we’ll be laughin’ an livin’ so good you’ll think this was all some bad dream.” Miles winked. “You’ll wake up to your Prince Charming, yeah?”_

Miles gripped the armrest of his first class seat on the 5:15 out of LA to Las Vegas and clenched his jaw. That little send off wasn’t the one he’d been expecting. Hell, he would have taken a cold shoulder over the half hearted kiss Alex had offered up with those parting words. They’d struck Miles cold, and he’d been blindsided so profoundly that he’d barely kept his cool to put together a smooth reply. 

The drive to the airport, the subsequent waiting time in the departure lounge, and the short taxi out to the runway had given him ample time to come up with all sorts of responses, ranging from violent to flippant. Really, what the fuck was Alex thinking about, wanting to leave at a critical time like this? Or at any time? Hadn’t they been down this road before?

Miles needed Alex, just the same way that Alex needed him.

Didn’t he? Christ, Miles had been the one to pick him up and brush him off, quite literally, and this was the thanks he got?

When his head began to throb, he reached out and snagged a flight attendant as she bustled by. “Can I get a gin an’ tonic, darling, hold the lime?”

The flight attendant, a pretty redhead, smiled sweetly and then pouted. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir, given the short flight, we won’t be serving alcohol. Can I bring you some coffee or tea instead?” She fluttered her dark lashes.

Miles smiled tightly, baring his teeth, and he leaned over his armrest and glared up at the titian pain in his ass. “Just bring me a fucking gin, love, yeah?”

She made a face and let loose a little huff, but turned on her heels and sauntered back towards the prep area at the head of the plane. A few moments later she delivered his drink with a curt nod, and Miles nodded his thanks, but was otherwise occupied digging into his suit jacket for the small bottle of valium he’d tucked inside. He downed one tablet and drank the entire gin and tonic in one gulp, and then pressed his coolled fingertips to his eyelids as the plane crawled higher into the sky. 

He was still piecing together how he was going to get out of the shit with Sam Fogarino. Clarke’s insistence that Alex be left behind, that Helders and Cas accompany him was covering up for something more, Miles could feel it.

He glanced to his left where Helders glared out the window, his hand rhythmically clenching and releasing, making the tendons stand out in his forearm. Noting the tick in his jaw Miles became wary of the ex-boxer’s thoughts without him having to say a word, and he rested his empty cup on his knee while he leaned.

“I don’t need to tell you this is a dangerous situation,” Miles murmured in a low voice.

“Yes, Sir,” Helders replied with a single nod.

“You talked to Alex before we left?”

“Sir?” Helders asked, finally looking at Miles.

“He’s upset, I know, and for good reason. But it’s making him say crazy things, Helders. I can...I can count on you going into this, right? Because if you’re setting me up I’d rather you tell me now-”

“Mr. Kane,” Helders interrupted. “I’m here to make sure you get home to Alex in one piece. What happens after that is none of my business.”

Miles blinked and sat back, and gave Helders a pensive look. “Always trying to remain neutral, eh, Helders? You’re a good man, an’ you’ve never let me down. Answer me this: when Alex met with Clarke and Avery last week, was there any indication given that Avery was one of Fogarino’s men?”

Helders shook his head. “I were just as surprised as you, Sir.”

“Fogarino is a bit of rabid dog, I’m afraid. There could be blood.” Miles let that hang in the air between them.

“Would you expect any less, Sir, were the situation reversed?”

“What are you saying?”

“You and Fogarino...are cut from the same cloth, in a way. I think it’s more than likely that there _will_ be blood.”

He was right. Miles gave him half a smile. “Keep your eyes and your wits about you, then, Helders.”

“It’s second nature, Sir.”

Miles nodded. “Thank you.”

Across the aisle Cas sat leaned back in his seat, sunglasses on despite the dim cabin, headphones covering his ears, long fingers drumming on the armrest. For someone about to go into a blind meeting, he seemed unnervingly relaxed. Cas was good with a gun, good with brute force when needed, but was he up to the task? Could he go the distance if needed?

Cas’ head suddenly swung in Miles direction and with a rather large grin he gave Miles a thumbs-up and nodded enthusiastically as he bobbed his head to whatever beat was roaring in his headphones.

“Maybe stick closer to me, Sir,” Helders murmured.

“Maybe,” Miles murmured, nodding in agreement.

+

When they landed a short while later, Miles’ outward persona was noticeably altered, the Valium and gin having done their work in short order, but his mind was still turning gears, albeit slowly. Checking his phone he noticed one missed call and a new voicemail, which he picked up immediately. It was Fogarino, stating that when they landed someone would be waiting to bring them to The Wynn where they’d be staying. Slipping his phone into his pocket as he and Cas and Helders cleared the terminal, Miles spotted Paul Thomson right away, stiffly standing, and glaring in his direction.

“Thomson,” Miles greeted, slowing his pace as he neared the smaller man.

“Kane,” he growled in reply, looking over Cas and nodding. Then he turned to Helders. “Mr. Helders. Your reputation precedes you.”

Helders frowned slightly. “I’m sorry?”

Thomson grinned a little too widely. “Saw you go eight rounds with Trick Gibson in 2010 in Anaheim. Too bad about the next bout with Royal, eh?” Thomson shook his head. “Coulda gone pro.”

Helders nodded stiffly. “Aye.”

Thomson turned to Miles once more. “Where’s your…” he trailed off, lifting his hand and waving it for a moment. “Your little friend-”

“Alex?” Miles asked archly.

“Right, him,” Thomson shrugged. “Mr. Fogarino was expecting him, too.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Miles growled. “But the lad is feeling under the weather.”

“You can take it up with Mr. Fogarino, then.” He then motioned for Miles and his party to follow. “A suite has been booked for you and your men at The Wynn, courtesy of Mr. Fogarino. You’ll be meeting with him over lunch tomorrow, in the penthouse villa, at one pm.” 

They exited the terminal and were blasted by hot, dry, desert air, a definite change from the damp cool of LA the last few days. The sun was still blazing as it lazily wandered along the horizon, burnishing everything to copper and bronze and molten red, the shadows made of molasses. The hustle in the parking lot was anything but, and cars whipped in and out of lanes as Thomson led them to where a black Cadillac Escalade was idling. The driver saw Thomson approach and stepped out, opening the back doors and instructing the newcomers to leave their bags to be loaded into the back. When the doors had been shut, and all the luggage loaded, the driver settled back in and pulled into the exit lane that would take them out of the airport space and onto the highway towards the never-ending blaze of neon in the distance.

+

_“This is Alex. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back.”_

Miles uttered a curse under his breath and waited for the beep. “Eh, laa. It’s me. Just wanted to tell I’m at The Wynn, room 1107. You should see this place, yeah?” Miles wandered to the floor-to-ceiling windows that engulfed the suite entirely, fingers gently grasping a champagne flute. He used a finger to push aside the gauzy curtains and take in the sky which was now soft, hazy peach melting into deep, vibrant violet, and the lights flashed and spun and dazzled endlessly. “Amazing view of the strip. Anyway...we’re set to meet Fogarino at lunch sometime tomorrow, yeah? My guess is we’ll have things straightened out and I’ll be home by tomorrow evening, Sunday at the latest.” He faltered then, feeling foolish, and he drained his champagne and set the glass down on a nearby table and stared into the night. “I miss you, you know that? I always do when I gotta leave ya. An’ I promise you, laa, this is the last time I do it, yeah? I couldn’t bear ya being hurt, that’s why I made you stay behind. But I’m comin’ home to you an’ I’m gonna make it up to you, again and again and again if I have to. I’m not givin up on us, Al. Did you think I would? I’m fightin for us, baby, that’s why I’m here. You’re mine, Alex, an’ I’m yours. No two ways about it.” He ended the call and frowned at the screen before he closed it and set it on the table.

He hated waiting, but it was all he could do at this point. Cas was heading down to the casinos for a bit, and Helders had made himself scarce as he always did, his presence that of a phantom lingering within earshot, ready for anything, but otherwise unseen. Miles was more or less left to his own devices in the suites. Oh, he could join Cas, but he wasn’t much of a gambler, really, and he couldn’t fathom taking in a show. Besides, not much could distract him from the bisection of his thoughts - half of his brain was trying to focus on his meeting with Fogarino the next day, and all the possible scenarios and outcomes, while the other half of his brain insisted on focusing on Alex, and how he was going to fix things. 

He turned Alex’s parting words around in his head again. There had been something so unfamiliar, so cold and spent in his voice, and it came back to Miles as he replayed their last conversations. Alex had fought back, more so than he ever had previously, like an oft-beaten animal at the end of its tether. Miles frowned. What was Alex’s plan, then, if he were to leave Miles? He had nowhere to go; barely had a name made for himself, and that was as a favourite of Clarke’s…

Miles sat forward suddenly as realization dawned on him. This change in Alex hadn’t been overnight, it hadn’t come on suddenly as a sullen outburst to Miles tightening his hold. Clarke had been there from the beginning, ever since Miles had gone to Chicago to get the ball rolling for his bid to take control. He’d been the one to put Homme in his home. He’d been the one to meet with Alex on more than one occasion, arranging for new security.

So where did Alex fit into all of this? He’d charmed the likes of Homme and Barat easily enough, and Clarke had taken an immediate liking to him. He’d wager it was the same for Avery. The very thought of Alex being admired thusly caused Miles to growl, his hands sliding back over his short hair to clutch the back of his neck. _Think, Miles_ , he ordered himself.

Homme was dead. He’d been a vicious beast who’d deserved it, without question, and Clarke _must_ have known all along that putting Kane and Homme on opposite ends of the same team would cause friction. And in the middle? Alex, and to a degree, Barat. Clarke had played his part well, too, appearing displeased with Miles’ decision to dispose of Homme, but otherwise no worse for wear. After all, he still had Fogarino.

His thoughts shifted to Fogarino now, another brute that Clarke kept at a safe distance. Once more he was faced with an opposing party, and once more Alex was in the middle, along with Avery. Alex and Avery. Avery was dead, and Clarke had practically strung him up over the phone, demanding he head for Vegas immediately, and leave Alex at home.

_Clarke. Barat. Alex._ Miles spun the names around in his head and tried to find a place for himself in the mix. No matter which way he looked at it, there just didn’t seem to be a place for him among the others. His jaw tightened as he stood and moved to the bar to pour another measure of whiskey.

What had Clarke once said to him?

_“...your...methods leave some finesse to be desired for. Creative, yes, artistically vicious, absolutely.”_

Of course there was no place for him with the others. He thought back to that afternoon on the flight down, and Helders’ words now rang clear in his head:

_“You and Fogarino...are cut from the same cloth.”_

The whiskey burned as he swallowed a mouthful. The pieces suddenly started falling into place.

There was no room for him at Clarke’s table because he was one of the dogs, chained together with the likes of Homme, and Sam Fogarino. And he had a very sinking suspicion that he was the runt of the pack.

+

From the corner of his eye Alex had seen his phone light up where he’d tossed it to the bed after turning the ringer off, but he was too engrossed in the canvas in front of him to do much about it. This was something new for him that he was working on, no longer the oozing reds, the looming greys and charcoals and blacks, the suffocating blues, but rather bits and pieces of each one, as if suddenly he was able to see the full spectrum instead of just chromatics. It excited him, and the feeling rushed his veins faster than cocaine, and more euphorically, too. In turn it pulsed in his hand which pushed his brush across the canvas, and he let loose an elated sigh that bordered on ecstasy. His heart thrummed warmly, and his gaze flickered over parts of the canvas he hadn’t touched yet, bringing colour and sensation and emotion to every square inch he could. And when that canvas was full, he set it to one side to dry, and found a new one, blank as he was, as he felt, and began filling in the space once more.

His fingers tossed tubes of colour along the low table he’d had Helders lug up last week, and he frowned when he discovered that his tube of ultramarine blue was almost used up. Glancing back to the canvas he knew that he couldn’t make do, that he _wouldn’t_ make due. He’d been doing that far too long. If he wanted something, he’d have to take it for himself. Nodding at his decision, and wiping his hands on a nearby rag, he quickly changed his shirt and grabbed his leather jacket from where he’d tossed it the night before. Checking the pockets he located his keys, and he grabbed the phone off the bed, and checked his notifications as he hurried down the hall to the stairs. These he hurried down, too, until he realized that the call he’d missed had come from Miles, and that its notification was right below another: _**one new voicemail.**_

Alex’s steps slowed until he was standing on the last step above the landing of the front hall, and his thumb hovered over the screen. All at once, his last conversation with Miles clouded his memory, and he recalled the look of confusion and shock that passed over Miles’ features before he schooled them into a passive scowl and finally, and easy smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes.

Standing on the stairs Alex realized that he’d caught Miles off guard, and that he was a little pleased with the result. Miles didn’t like surprises; what man in his line of work would? The little thrill of a small victory singed his soul and smouldered nicely in his chest. He’d been the one in control, and it didn’t matter to Alex that it had lasted only seconds. He’d seen the moment and taken it, thrown caution to the wind and it had ruffled Miles’ feathers. 

So why was he so hesitant to listen to Miles’ message?

His thumb twitched, and he almost swiped the screen to open the phone, when he stopped. Whatever it was it could wait, Alex decided. See? That wasn’t so hard. Another decision: not jumping to Miles’ whim. He needed ultramarine blue, he insisted, putting the phone into his inside pocket and heading down past the study and the living room to the door that led to the car port. He was going to get that pain, and he wasn’t going to let anyone stop him. Reaching the door, he twisted the knob and pulled, and stepped down into the cool, damp space that was open on both ends to the downpour outside.

He spotted Valensi pitching the last of a cigarette out into the rain and exhale smoke before he was crossing the floor with quick, calculated steps. “Where you going?” he called as he neared Alex.

Having made his way over to his car he shrugged. “Out. Gotta pick summat up.”

Valensi shook his head. “Sorry, Mr. Turner, but I’m under strict orders: you’re not going anywhere.”

Alex cocked his head, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “I’m sorry, what?” He opened the driver’s side door and made to slip into the seat when a hand on his chest stopped him. “What the fuck do you think you’re-”

“It’s a direct order, Mr. Turner, from Mr. Kane, and one I don’t intend on disobeying. The entire place is on lockdown until Mr. Kane returns.”

“But that might not be for another day or two!” Alex sputtered, glaring at Valensi. “You can’t expect me to stay locked up in here.”

Valensi shook his head again and wrapped a large hand around the frame of the car door, pulling it wide and indicating that Alex should clear the driver’s side. “You’ll have to take it up with Mr. Kane.”

Anger began to swell in Alex’s chest and he took a breath and gave Valensi one more hard look before he turned on his heel and walked with as much dignity as he could back into the house. When he was back inside he leaned against the closed door and let out the breath he’d held, and clenched his fists at his side. Was this Miles’ punishment? Being made prisoner in his own home? He dug into his pocket and produced his phone, and jabbed in the lock code before opening the voicemail.

_“Ehh, laa, it’s me.”_

Alex listened to the message through its entirety once, and then he pushed himself away from the door and headed to the living room. and pressed ‘nine’ to replay the message again. He sagged against the back of the couch listening, and everything Miles was saying Alex had heard before. The only thing different was the voice. It was no longer angry, or determined, or even persuasive. This time it was raw, and desperate, and Alex began to worry just how hard his words had hit. Alex’s chest began to ache, and twist with an anxious flare that made him just as frantic as Miles sounded. 

_“I’m not giving up on us baby. You’re mine, an’ I’m yours.”_

The nature of the anxious feeling twisted again, this time toward self preservation, and Alex quickly disconnected from his voicemail with his heart thrumming in his ears.

_He just wants to keep you safe_ , he reasoned. _You were too hasty to dismiss him, you know you were. You were made for each other_.

Christ, he needed a beer. Pushing away from the couch he skirted around the loveseat and up the shallow steps that led into the dining room. Past the table and chairs was a pass through to the kitchen and he made his way toward it.

He caught the rich scent of onions and tomatoes right away, and his stomach gave a pang of sudden hunger. Trying to remember when he’d last eaten, Alex rounded the corner preparing to greet Charlotte and was stopped dead in his tracks when he came upon Jamie standing over the stove, stirring something in a saucepan.

“Where’s Charlotte?” Alex blurted out.

Jamie glanced back over his shoulder, watching as Alex wandered into the kitchen and craned his neck, trying to see what Jamie was concocting.

“Dismissed for the remainder of the week,” Jamie replied, turning back to the stove. “With pay. Safety precaution.”

“So, you’re in on it, too?”

“In on what?” Jamie asked, setting his wooden spoon into the rest and turning to the butcher’s block.

“This whole...fucking...prison vibe.” He waved his hand around for emphasis.

Jamie chuckled and loosely bundled a handful of fresh basil and began roughly tearing it as he moved back to the stove. “Prison vibe?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a bit dramatic, even for you.”

“Well what the hell do you call a man being kept locked up in his own home?” Alex growled, still watching Jamie’s precise movements. “What are you doing?”

This time, Jamie laughed out loud and dumped the torn basil into the pot, picking the spoon up again to stir the contents. “I’m cooking,” he shrugged. “And to answer your first question, it’s for your own safety, you realize. It’s not such a bad idea.”

“Not such a - Jamie, Valensi wouldn’t even let me go out to get fucking _paint_!”

Reaching over the stove, Jamie turned the heat down under the saucepan and then rummaged around in the cupboards, clanging pots and pans. “He’s doing his job,” he called out, before reemerging with a large pot and the lid to match.

Alex stared, utterly confused at the picture Jamie was illustrating. He watched the blond fill the pot with water and set it on the stove, turn the heat up high, and add salt. He noticed Alex staring and he smiled. “Wot? Man’s gotta eat, don’t he?” He nodded in Alex’s direction. “When’s the last time you did?”

“Did what?” Alex asked with a small scowl.

“Ate somethin,” Jamie replied.

“I…” Alex took a moment to think. “Breakfast?”

“Are you guessing?” Jamie asked.

“Maybe?”

“Sit down,” Jamie directed, pointing a finger to the empty stool on the other side of the breakfast bar. He waited until Alex was seated, rather stiffly, before he turned to the fridge and pulled out a couple of beers. He snapped the top off of one and set it in front of Alex before opening the other for himself, taking a long sip.

Alex took a healthy swig of his own beer and set the bottle down with an audible clunk! Before letting out a long sigh. Jamie said nothing, and continued to work as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Judging by his comfort in the kitchen, Alex would daresay this was the truth.

“So that girl that lived down the hall from you in college - did she teach you how to cook, too?”

Jamie snorted and leaned his hip into the counter next to the stove, folding his arms over his chest and looking at Alex. “Nah. That were me mum.”

Alex sat a little straighter, and leaned forward. “Really?”

“Well it weren’t me da, I can tell you that. I can still hear him grumbling about Mum teaching me the finer points of braising and poaching in the off-season, when dad thought I should be practising every day, or workin’ out, or jogging, summat to do with footie, yeah?” Jamie’s mouth turned into a fond smile and he combed a hand through his hair with a little shrug. “Anyway, it’s not that big a thing, yeah? Cookin’, I mean.”

“The extent of me own culinary aptitude consists of boiling water an’ fryin’ an egg,” Alex pointed out. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

Jamie gave Alex a pointed look but remained silent, watching him.

“Wot?” Alex murmured, shifting in his seat and turning his attention to the label on his beer bottle. He began lifting the corner of it, and tearing off long strips.

“Remember the last time we had a beer together?”

Alex’s mouth flirted with a smile and he gave a little shrug. “Course I do.” His smile grew a little bigger.

Jamie’s heart squeezed where it had been thrumming happily behind his ribs. He’d put money on Alex remembering every little detail of that morning in Sicily, because it was the same for Jamie. He hadn’t forgotten the way Alex’s shoulders had eased with casual conversation, and the almost molten quality of his voice as he relaxed and let everything else slip away. 

It was a fine fiction.

“Nowt wrong with wantin’ a little normalcy,” Jamie went on.

Alex took a sudden breath. “I - I told Miles that we needed to talk. About us. Like, I mean…” he furrowed his brow and took another few sips of his beer. “Right before he left I told him that when he gets back, we’re gonna talk.”

Jamie’s eyebrows lifted, somewhat startled with the admission, but otherwise buoyed by it. It was a step, small as it were, but headed in the right direction. Behind him, the water began boiling on the stove, spitting and hissing, the lid rattling on the pot.

“I feel like...Like I had to say summat, but I don’t know why I thought this was a good time to do it.” He scratched at the back of his neck and then hung his head, rubbing both hands over his hair. “He doesn’t need my shit on top of everyfing else he’s dealin wiv-”

“Stop second-guessing yourself,” Jamie interrupted. “You did what you did when you did it because you had to. You can’t plan those conversations. Alex, you’ve been holding this in for a lot longer than you realize, I think, and, well…” he gestured to the boiling water. “Sometimes you just reach a certain point.”

A quick bark of laughter escaped Alex, despite his reservations. “You know, just when I think I’ve got you figured out,” he murmured, propping his chin in his hand to watch Jamie work.

“What’s that,” the blond replied, now dumping pasta into the boiling water and lifting another slotted spoon to stir it before turning the heat down.

“You just…” Alex waved it away, and drained his beer before sliding off of his stool and moving to the fridge. “I mean, here I am literally faced with a life and death situation, talkin’ about leaving Miles an’...” he continued, pulling open the fridge and peering inside. He snagged another bottle for himself and opened it, before closing the fridge and settling against it. “An’ yet I’m lauging at your terrible metaphors, makin’ light of a dark deal, while you’re cookin’...what exactly is it that you’re cookin’?” Alex wedged himself against the counter between the stove and the fridge and took another quick sniff. “God, that smells fantastic.”

“Here.” Reaching for the wooden spoon he’d been using to stir Jamie dipped the end into the red sauce he’d created and cupped his hand underneath as he hovered it toward Alex. 

Before he could think of reason why he should decline, Alex was taking Jamie up on his offer, settling his hand over Jamie’s to steady the spoon and then closing his mouth around the end with a little hum. Flicking his dark gaze up to meet Jamie’s stare, he then pulled back slowly, rolling the flavours of the sauce around on his tongue, before swallowing and licking his lips.

Jamie could only gaze dreamily, dumbfounded by his own whimsy and Alex’s subsequent concession. It had been so long since they’d been alone together, in a moment that didn’t require a gun or someone bleeding, that he let himself be consumed by the way Alex’s lashes swept up as their eyes locked, by the way he giggled as he thumbed excess sauce from his bottom lip and then sucked that thumb, and the way his body relaxed and even shifted a bit closer to Jamie’s.

“What is it?” Alex asked, watching as Jamie set the spoon aside.

“It’s simple enough. Nothing special,” Jamie shrugged. “Tomatoes, garlic, peppers, basil…” he trailed off, watching Alex nod, his dark eyes wide and focused.

“I don’t think anyone has ever cooked for me before,” Alex said thickly. “I mean...other than me mum but…” he paused and shook his head. “It’s good,” he praised, looking back to Jamie with a brilliant smile. “It’s perfect.” 

At that moment Alex’s belly decided to growl and Jamie laughed, the spell broken as steam rose off the stove and surrounded them. “It’ll be a few minutes yet,” Jamie murmured, wanting to prolong the moment.

Alex was already moving away, towards the cupboards where the dishes were kept. “I’ll lay the table, then.”

+

It was almost a romantic dinner.

In his mind, Alex tried to scold himself, but the dim lighting, the table set for just two, the quiet way the rain pelted the bay windows in the nook of the kitchen, all added to the ambience. Across from Alex, Jamie made it complete, or the closest it had ever been for Alex. He’d shared hundreds of meals with Miles, of course, but never anything this intimate. More often than not it was all for show, to boast, to parade Alex around; he was well aware of this fact by now. Never once had he and Miles sat alone, without any sort of escort or bodyguard within five feet, not even in their home. And he’d never enjoyed conversation such as the one that carried on from the stove to the table, and Alex fiddled with his fork and set it down, rubbing his hands over his thighs and looking out the window.

Jamie noticed and paused his retelling of semi-final footie match in the rain during his senior year of high school and watched as the the furrowed brow returned to Alex’s face. “What is it?” Jamie asked, setting his own fork down.

Wedging his thumbnail between his teeth, Alex lifted a shoulder. “Joost like...I can’t recall a time where it were ever like this.” He looked back to Jamie and pulled his thumb from his mouth. “You know. Easy.” Mentally he cursed Miles who always seemed to have a knack for dampening any elation that Alex could feel, even when he was five hundred kilometers away. “I wouldn’t have given it a second thought six months ago but six months ago I didn’t even know something like this were possible...that I could want something more than what I was already being given.” Noticing Jamie’s sympathetic expression Alex huffed, and waved his hand. “I’m sorry. Let’s talk about summat else. Please?”

“All right,” Jamie nodded, watching as Alex shifted in his seat and turned his attention back to his plate. “You said you were painting. Mind if I ask what you’re working on?”

Alex slurped a mouthful of sauce and pasta as delicately as he could and then paused to wipe his mouth before replying. “Eh...m’not quite sure. Possibly a series of things, maybe.” He laughed and shook his head. “I dunno know yet, really. I’m just...finding new spaces to fill in, I suppose.”

Jamie nodded and, having finished his meal, pushed his plate aside and reached for his beer. “You know I could probably pick a few things up for you in the morning, if you like. You said you were out of paint?”

The dark-eyed man sat up, expression bright. “Would you? I could make you a list, it’s not much but like...I could use some ultramarine, I just ran out and like...probably a few more brushes? There’s got to be other more colours I’m running low on, reds, for sure an like…” He trailed off as he caught Jamie’s bemused grin. “Wot?”

“Nowt, no, I’m just…” _I’m just completely addicted this side of you_. “Make me a list.” He winked and started to get up and gather the plates.

“I’ve got it, sit down,” Alex interjected, standing at the same time. He gathered his plate and cutlery and wandered to the sink, setting the dishes next to it, and then came back for Jamie’s plate. “You could, like...come take a look, if you like?” He reached for Jamie’s plate and looked down at the man as he continued, “I mean...come see what I’m working on?” His voice grew softer as he finished his question and he found that his heart began to beat faster as Jamie looked up at him.

“I...don’t know if that’s a good idea, Alex. I...I’m technically on duty.” As soon as it was out of his mouth Jamie internally cringed at how lame it sounded.

“Is it not your duty to not let me outta your sight?” Alex countered. He made a show of leaning across Jamie to gather his napkin and his cutlery, and caught that bold, blue stare as he stood straight again.

Jamie cleared his throat. “I think you’re looking too far into that order.”

“I think I’m within me right.”

“Alex-”

“It’s fine, though,” Alex explained, swiftly moving away with Jamie’s dishes. “I mean it. You don’t have to check it out. It might be better if you don’t.” Perhaps the plate landed a little louder on the counter, but he went on to open the dishwasher and load everything he could inside, working efficiently in the silence of the kitchen. Only a few pots remained, and those he could deal with in the morning.

As Alex came to the table once more Jamie rose from his seat, but he didn’t have a thing to say. Instead of stopping at a casual distance Alex pushed into Jamie’s personal space and found that Jamie didn’t move, that he in fact welcomed it, despite what his mouth had been saying.

“Thank you for this, Jamie,” Alex said, setting a hand on Jamie’s bicep, his fingers flexing on the muscle there, “for everything.” Tilting his head up he shifted once more, bringing his face closer to Jamie’s. “I’ll bring you a list tomorrow, yeah?” he whispered. Jamie gave a tiny nod and with another dollop of courage Alex closed the distance between them and brushed Jamie’s bottom lip with his mouth. “Goodnight.”

He thought he felt the ghost of Jamie’s hand try to close on his waist, perhaps to grab him and hold him closer, hold him still, but he was already moving away. Only slightly crestfallen that Jamie hadn’t accepted the invitation, Alex still felt warm and complete as he moved back through the sprawling house toward the main stairs. His mouth tingled where it had touched Jamie’s, and had he stayed long enough, he would have seen Jamie’s fingers rubbing the swell of his bottom lip as he stared longingly in the direction Alex had gone.

+

Helders and Cas were already seated on the balcony when Miles finally made his way from the bedroom the next day. It was nearing eleven, and the valium cocktail he’d submerged himself in the night before to assuage the tremors of doubt coursing through him was beginning to wear off. In its place was a milky haze injected with almost oppressive heat and a dusty quality to everything he touched. He’d barely uttered the words coffee and it was poured, though it was a poor excuse for the rabid blend he was used to back home. He turned his nose up at the prospect of eating anything more substantial than the bloody mary that followed his coffee, and he fidgeted with his lighter, his gaze hovering on his phone which had remained silent.

Alex hadn’t called him back yet, and the idea that he was being avoided, or worse snubbed, was almost too much for Miles to bear. Taking a gulp of his beverage he then sat back with a groan, and tipped his face up to the sun baking down on the little square pad of cement that overlooked Las Vegas.

“Win big last night, Cas?” Miles mumbled, scrubbing at the whiskers along the underside of his jaw.

The lanky brunet smirked. “Yeah, I did all right.”

“Am I not payin’ you enough, then?”

Helders snorted and dug into his eggs benedict while Cas chuckled lightly before replying, “It’s never enough, is it Mr. Kane.”

“Hmm. No, I suppose it isn’t. It’s a terrible thing, dissatisfaction. Always wanting more. Knowing that you’re above your station and doing everything in your power to change it.”

“Some might call that hubris,” Cas pointed out casually.

“Ambition,” Miles corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Of course, Sir,” Cas smiled, taking another sip of coffee.

Without so much as moving his head, Miles spoke to the sky overhead. “Helders, you talked to Alex since we got here?”

“To Alex?”

“Aye,” Miles muttered, finally sitting forward and slugging back the rest of his bloody mary. He lit a cigarette and took a few drags as he looked at the ex boxer.

Helders shook his head once. “No, Sir. Not since just before we left yesterday.”

“He say anything to you?”

“About?”

“With all due respect, Mr. Kane,” Cas broke in, “but I think we should focus on this meeting in a few hours. You know Fogarino wants explanations. And he’ll want compensation.”

“I brought my checkbook,” Miles offered flippantly.

“It might take more than that.”

“Well, that’s why you’re here.”

Cas turned silent.

“That bother you, Casablancas?” Miles asked, cocking an eyebrow and crossing one lanky leg over the other. “This is what you signed on for, yeah? To watch my ass if things go sideways.”

“I’m well aware of that, but there’s this nagging thing about being a human: it’s called self preservation.”

“Look,” Miles started, leaning to Cas. “This isn’t going to be more than a severe dressing down. He’s down a man, yeah, but if these guys aren’t going to play fair, they can’t expect me to know who’s who in the fucking zoo, right?”

“Fogarino doesn’t think that way, Mr. Kane. He doesn’t think like any of us and that’s why Clarke keeps him at arm’s length.”

“Yeah, well, there’s only room for one loose canon on Clarke’s roster, an’ that’s me. I’m gonna ask you this once, Cas, and once only: are you with me?”

“Yeah,” Cas replied, pouring more coffee for himself. “I’m all in.”

+  
“Hey, mate, it’s me. I...just wanted to check in wiv ya, yeah? Make sure you’re stayin’ outta trouble.” Helders paused as he left a message on Alex’s voicemail, and glanced back into the suite from where he leaned against the railing of the balcony. 

They’d dispersed shortly after Miles had finished his second cigarette and another bloody mary, and now Miles was in the shower while Cas fiddled with the television in the lounge area. Helders turned back and looked over the city, already rippling with waves from the desert heat, and he lowered his voice as he spoke once more.

“Listen, I don’t want you to panic but...summat ain’t right here. It’s too perfect, too relaxed.” He paused again with a frown.

He wasn’t paid to think. That’s what Kane kept telling him, at least, but as Helders watched the exchange between Cas and his boss, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Kane was the one who was supposed to set the tone of these things, and the rest would follow suit. Instead it was Cas who was way too relaxed, and Miles who was unfocused.

“It’s probably just me, though, eh? Gettin’ all jittery. Eh...whatever happens here, though, just...stay close to Cook. Meetin’s at one today so I guess I’ll call ya when everything's said and done. Take it easy, mate.” He ended the call and then moved back inside, heading to his own room to get ready.

+

The phone buzzed on Alex’s bedside table, unattended as Alex was in the shower. He’d woken languidly, bolstered by the fact that though the clouds remained, they weren’t as dark as they had been, and the rain had lessened. Standing under the hot spray of water, Alex soaped his skin and took his time, letting his mind wander to the electricity he’d been jolted with when he’d touched Jamie’s mouth with his. It made him smile; had made him smile long into the evening as he put aside the piece he’d been working on for another blank canvas, this on full of soft graduations of colours, an almost dry brush technique as he blended soft blues into pale teals, peaches and butter yellows. He didn’t know how long he’d worked for; he was still in his clothing when he’d finally risen from a warm dream.

The details of it came back to him now, softly foaming to the surface of his mind with each pass of his hands over his torso, his arms and shoulders and neck, and back down to his hips again. He recalled, too, the way in which Jamie had touched him that night they’d shared, when it had been just for him and just about him, and Alex groaned softly as his arousal began to pool into his pelvis and pull gently at his belly. Licking the drops of water from his lips a choppy sigh left his lungs as his hands circled down between his thighs. His readiness surprised him; lately it had been work to get him to the point where Miles needed him to be. Now, however, he was instantly hard, almost to the point of aching, and very eager. 

Curling his toes against the slate tiles beneath his feet Alex held himself up with one hand pressed to the wall, and curled the fingers of his other around the base of his erection. He groaned thickly and pushed his face into the water, opening his mouth, cleansing his tongue, his breath, his facade, before letting it all wash away. He turned his head, pressing his cheek to his shoulder, and whined as he began to move his fist with quick, light strokes, just the way he liked.

Just the way Jamie had done it.

His belly bloomed hotly with another wave of arousal and he felt his balls turn heavy with another half dozen passes of his hand. Stiff and sure, cocked and ready, Alex glanced down and huffed at the sight of his cock, trying to imagine Jamie’s hand, and Jamie’s voice, and Jamie’s scent surrounding him. It wasn’t hard to do, really, he merely conjured the shade of blue required to paint Jamie’s gaze from memory, and suddenly Jamie was there, right behind him, pressed hot and firm and slippery into every curve and angle of Alex’s back. Working his thumb over the groove down the center of his tip, he worried the hole there, hissing as it became slick, and he wondered what Jamie’s cock would feel like pressed into his hip, between his cheeks, sliding through soap and water to discover all the places Alex needed him to find.

The thought made him gasp; in truth any notion of sex since that violent act had been met with trepidation, and that was often pushed aside by way of narcotic or necessity. That morning in the shower he was free to want it, to desire it, and he met it head on and stared it down and drew forth an eruption of emotion and sensation so powerful that it overwhelmed him, pushed him to his toes with an arch in his back, and left him panting as the steam continued to billow around his body.

When he’d allowed himself a moment to catch his breath he finished with the shower quickly, rinsing his body one last time before cranking the taps off. With a towel around his waist he jammed his toothbrush into his mouth and padded into the bedroom to find something to wear.

Ten minutes later he was giving himself a once over in the mirror, pushing a hand back through his dark, damp hair, and decided against the pomade he’d been using as of late. He adjusted the cling of his t shirt, settled his belt buckle straight, and then moved to where he had his art supplies set up so that he could make a list of things he needed Jamie to pick up that day. Spying his phone, he remembered the notepad app and he clicked the screen on, noticing he’d missed a call from Helders.

He stopped short and stared at the screen. The last time he’d gotten a call from Helders had been to tell him that Miles had been shot and was in a hospital in Chicago with six bullet holes in his chest. Alex felt his own chest squeeze with panic. _No, no it’s not anything like that_ , he decided. _If it were, if Matthew couldn’t get through to me, the next person he’d try would be Jamie_. Still, Alex’s thumb shook as he opened the phone and punched in his code for his voicemail. Setting it to speaker, he swallowed the lump in his throat and then heard Helders’ soft rasp come through the phone.

When the message ended, Alex let go of the breath he’d been holding. It wasn’t altogether disheartening, and Helders had seemed to shrug it off at the end but there was something about the fact that he’d cautioned Alex to stay close to Jamie that set a little warning flare in Alex’s mind. 

_But Matthew is there_ , Alex’s inner monologue soothed as Alex tried to set his mind to task, taking stock of paint and brushes and other supplies. _That’s the whole point: Matthew is there and Matthew is gonna do his job and everything is going to be all right._ Nodding to himself, Alex typed a few more things into his memo.

With a list compiled he left his bedroom and headed downstairs, and back to the kitchen. It was in the same state he’d left it last night, the last of the pots in the sink, and the scent of garlic lingering. He set about making a pot of coffee, and while he waited for it to brew, he did the few dishes and set them to dry before pouring two mugs of coffee and fixing one to his liking. He wasn’t sure how Jamie took his but he supposed that if Jamie needed to he could nick over here and put what he needed into the mug and be satisfied. Glancing out the patio doors Alex noted the slight drizzle, said to hell with it, and opened the door before clutching both mugs with one hand. Then, stepping out with barefeet he closed the door behind him with his free hand and scurried across the patio toward the pool house.

Balancing the mugs and trying to stay as dry as possible, Alex craned his neck and gawked into the open drapes of the pool house for any sign of Jamie. The kitchenette was empty, and so was the couch and the bed. Gently rapping his knuckles on the glass he waited another few moments for Jamie to appear from somewhere. When he got no answer, Alex simply pushed the door open and let himself inside, closing the door behind him before moving to set the mugs on the breakfast bar. Hearing the soft spray of the shower behind the closed door of the bathroom, he smiled to himself, a little heat coming to the fore from where it hadn’t entirely been tamped down.

He sipped from his own mug and wandered around the small space, trying to find something that might tell him a little more about what kind of man Jamie was...or who he was. He always go the feeling that Jamie was holding a part of himself back, not that there was anything wrong with that. Everyone deserved their secrets. Some of them were very necessary to keep. As he passed from the kitchen to the living space he noted a few shirts slung over the backs of chairs, a closed laptop on the coffee table, and a half-empty bottle of whiskey, but none of these told Alex anything more than Jamie was a bit of a bachelor, who worked any chance he got, and enjoyed a fine single malt. From there he wandered to what could be considered the bedroom, a queen sized bed on the far side of the space, floor-to-ceiling windows wrapping the corner. And in that corner sat the guitar that Alex had bought for him.

Alex set his mug down on the bedside and plucked the guitar from its stand before setting back on the bed, cradling the instrument in his grasp. It felt a bit clunky and awkward, but he found a relatively comfortable spot and gently jarred each string with the thumb of his right hand, trying to recall the notes he’d learned in college. It sounded pretty close, from what Alex could tell, and he wrapped the fingers of his left hand under the fretboard and pressed them into place, rummaging up the most basic of chords: A, E, G, and with a bit of wiggling about, D. These he played around with from one to the other, working in no real order or reason, just simply staring out the window and letting his fingers move of their own free will.

The sound of the bathroom door opening startled Alex out of his trance and he whirled on his perch on the edge of Jamie’s bed and stared, wide eyed, at Jamie who had stopped in his tracks, naked save for the boxer briefs, and still dripping water. Letting out a little breath Alex pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and eventually turned his head away with a soft, “Sorreh,” but it was half-hearted, almost in jest. 

He fiddled with the chords again, and he heard Jamie slowly pad around on the carpet, opening drawers, rustling fabric, zipping, buckling, until finally a shadow passed in front of him and the edge of the mattress sank beneath the weight of Jamie settling in beside him.

“The b-string is flat,” Jamie pointed out softly, taking in Alex’s profile, the way his soft, dark hair fell over his forehead, and how his mouth pursed in concentration.

“O-oh-okay,” Alex managed to sputter, pausing his strumming and preparing to hand the thing over to Jamie. He felt a little silly, having been caught in his room effectively fiddling with his things, and his cheeks burned as he felt Jamie looking intently at him.

“No, no, here.” Jamie pressed the guitar back to Alex’s lap and shifted a bit closer so that he could get his own fingers on the fretboard. “Joost...move your hand...thank you...I’ll do this, you do that,” he went on, his voice having taken on the same smooth, easy cadence as it had when he’d been teaching Alex how to shoot a gun. He nodded at Alex and where his right hand hovered over the strings and the sound hole. “Pluck that string - second from the bottom.”

The note rang out and even to Alex’s ear it sounded off. He made a face and Jamie chuckled, and twisted the appropriate peg on the headstock. “Again,” Jamie instructed.

Alex complied and found the resulting tone much more suitable. Still, Jamie fiddled with the tuning peg, giving it another adjustment. “One more time,” he all but whispered. When the note sounded, Jamie nodded, and then settled back on his right hand where he’d planted it on the mattress, and he took Alex’s left hand in his own and brought it back to the fretboard. 

The younger man swallowed thickly, and was unable to stop the tremor in his hand. Jamie didn’t seem to notice, however, and focused on setting Alex’s fingertips in place. Alex stared, watching Jamie’s eyes flit, feeling his fingers smooth over the backs of his own, completely ignoring everything Jamie was saying to him.

“...play anythin’?” Jamie’s gaze found Alex’s, and he felt himself grown warm at the dazed expression on the smaller man’s face. “Al?”

“Wot?” Alex breathed, fluttering his lashes.

“I said, d’ya know how to play anythin’? Any songs?”

Alex blushed and shook his head, quickly looking away, realizing he’d been staring at Jamie far too long. “No,” Alex murmured, with another shake of his head. “I mean...other than like...a few Beach Boys tunes.” He chuckled a little nervously, unaware that he was trying to put the guitar back in Jamie’s hands.

Jamie, however, wouldn’t let him, and with a quick, daring maneuver he positioned himself right behind Alex, legs open to slide along the outside of Alex’s, chest pressed against his back, arms circling so that they shadowed Alex’s on the fretboard and body of the guitar. “Just relax. It ain’t gonna bite ya, you know. You’re shaking worse than when I gave you a lesson on guns.”

Alex remained silent and Jamie knew what the issue was because it was the same for him. A line had been crossed, seemingly innocent, but crossed nonetheless. This here was no man’s land in Jamie’s line of work, he knew that all too well, and like before he couldn’t bring himself to care, or to move back to a safe distance. If Alex didn’t want to be there, he wouldn’t have been sitting on the edge of his bed, those graceful fingers caressing the body of the guitar almost longingly. 

“We’ll start wiv an easy one,” Jamie instructed, pressing Alex’s left fingers into place and tenting his right ones over the back of Alex’s right hand. “I think you’ll know it to hear it. I’m terrible at singing, mind you, but if you know the words…”

Nodding, Alex cast a quick glance back over his shoulder, and drew a quick breath when he discovered just how closely Jamie was hovering. It felt good. It felt safe, and it was a heady feeling and once more Alex let it consume him, lived for the moment, and cared little about anything beyond.

+

Sam Fogarino was squared away in a three bedroom duplex suite in the Encore Towers of the Wynn Suites and Hotel. It sprawled across the top floor and overlooked the gardens and courtyard below, and housed not only his office, but his regular living suite, with rooms for himself, Thomson, and a spare for guests. In the main living area there was a bar, a fully furnished living room, and on a raised area against one window was a billiards table, played out in creamy marble, camel felt, and brass fittings. It was everything that Miles expected from a man like Fogarino: taste, style, and no nonsense.

He was also the kind of man who demanded respect when he entered a room, and got it from every man there when he finally emerged from his office in a sleekly cut pewter suit, black shirt, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back. From behind smart horn-rimmed glasses, cool gray eyes surveyed the scene that Miles and his small party made, standing in the front entrance as their weapons were catalogued. They wouldn’t be confiscated; every man in the suite had a piece on him, and Fogarino believed in an even playing ground should something go amiss.

It was something that gave Miles a modicum of relief. The wait for Thomson’s phone call had been tense, and the ride up the elevator silent. Flanked by Cas and Helders as he walked into the penthouse, they were checked, and checked again, and now they watched as Fogarino came to stand before them, looking intently into the eyes of each one. Cas had thankfully had the brains enough to slip his sunglasses into his jacket pocket, and Helders seemed to stare through Fogarino, something that made the granite and glacier man pause.

“Mr. Kane. I trust last night’s stay was adequate?” Fogarino addressed, drawing his gaze from Helders to let it land on Miles.

“It was,” Miles replied with a nod. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he tacked on with a glimmer of uncertainty.

Fogarino’s mouth curved upward into a smile that hadn’t seen much action, and he clapped his hands together smartly, rubbing the palms together for a moment. “Well then. I’m certain you can’t wait to get back there and explore every amenity available to you. Have you tried the mahi mahi at the Lakeside?” 

Miles shook his head curtly. “No, I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Fogarino’s smile widened considerably, the lone gold tooth flashing. “If you do nothing else while you’re here, do yourself a favour. It’s too bad Alex didn’t join you, Miles. Paul tells me he quite enjoys seafood.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The meeting you two had,” Fogarino shrugged, pointing a finger back and forth between Miles and Thomson. “I heard Paul had the pleasure of meeting your...shall we say...lighter half? How did you describe him, Paul? ‘Charming’, was it?”

“I called him a faggot,” Thomson replied flatly.

Miles visibly bristled and pursed his lips. “Well I guess that makes me one, too.”

Fogarino gave Thomson a stern look. “Paul, perhaps you’d consider refraining from insulting Mr. Kane and the company he keeps?” He looked back to Miles. “After all, he is our guest, faggot or otherwise.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Fogarino, who I fuck isn’t any of your concern,” Miles growled.

For a moment Fogarino considered this, and then he stepped into Miles’ space, so close that their noses were almost touching, and he snarled before replying, “It is when I’m the one you’re trying to fuck.”

Silence descended in the front entrance of the suite, and the four men Fogarino had stationed there all turned their attention on their boss, and the man he was speaking with. In Fogarino’s peripheral vision he saw Helders slip a hand into the inside of his jacket and suddenly Fogarino leaned back and clapped his hands on the outside of Miles’ biceps, squeezing roughly. Then, he chuckled, and his men followed suit.

“Mr. Helders, there’s no need for that. I’m merely stating my distaste of being out one man with no reason as to why. But you’re going to tell me, aren’t you, Kane? Hmm?” He looked to Miles once more. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To tell me why you felt the need to shoot Mr. Avery without so much as considering that there is more to this organization than just yourself. There are other people involved.” He dropped his hands and stepped back then, and moved aside with a welcoming gesture. “But let’s wait until we’ve got you in the door, shall we? Terribly rude, I’m just eager, you realize. If you’ll follow me, gentlemen?” He turned then and cut across the living space, back towards the office on the other side of the suite.

“Get moving,” Thomson snarked from behind Miles.

“Come in, come in, there’s enough room for everyone. Please, sit down,” Fogarino welcomed, moving around a massive piece of glass and steel that served as a desk. He eased into a high-backed leather chair and directed Miles, Cas, and Helders to join him on the other side of the desk. Miles sat, but Helders and Cas remained standing, their faces like stone. “Gonna stand, eh? Good men, you two, ready for action. Can I get anyone anything? Coffee? Tea? Beer? It’s after noon. I’m gonna have a beer. Paul, get me a beer, will you?” He waved at Thomson who moved to the bar on the far side of the office and then rolled his chair forward to prop his elbows up on the desk. “Sure you don’t want anything?” He was met with negative responses from all three, and he shrugged and waited for Thomson to open a bottle and then pour the contents into a glass. When said glass was settled on the desk before Fogarino, he smiled, took a long sip, and then sat back, tenting his fingers below his chin. “Now then, Mr Kane, in your own words, tell me the events from that night and please, don’t leave anything out.”

“Mr. Fogarino, I don’t know what you’re expecting to hear. If Thomson had delivered his message like arranged, I feel we’d be having a very different meeting right now.”

Fogarino looked almost serene as he regarded Miles, and sat forward and took another sip of his beer. Setting the glass aside, he swallowed and then looked closely at Miles. “Well, why don’t you tell me about it, then? Since it’s obviously an important element to this story.”

Miles explained his tactic for splitting Nevada as he’d outlined it for Thomson, complete with the details for the percentage he’d pocket. Intrigued, Fogarino nodded, and then glanced at Thomson with a frown. “Paul, I’m a little concerned that you kept this from me.”

Thomson actually looked sheepish and he scratched the back of his head and opened his mouth to reply. Before he could utter a word, Fogarino held his finger up and silenced him. “You can explain later,” he assured the Scotsman. Then he looked to Kane once more. “It’s an interesting offer, Mr. Kane. What makes you think I’d go for it?”

“Did you know Avery met with Clarke two days before he died?” Miles suddenly asked, meeting Fogarino’s stare head on. He saw a muscle twitch in Fogarino’s cheek, and he attacked. “From your expression, I’m guessing you didn’t.”

Fogarino’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Let me put it to you in simplest terms: you wanna talk about getting fucked? Clarke is doing both of us at the same time. That’s what this is all about. The old man is trying to cull the herd, bring in new blood, and he’s doing it all while letting us eat each other alive. He knew Homme was going to be in Chicago; he even admitted that he knew Homme was the one who arranged a hit on me. When I took Homme out, he barely batted an eye. But when he found out Avery was dead,” and here Miles paused and whistled lowly, “he was more than upset. He insisted that I come up here right away and straighten things out, because he knows you want compensation. I get that. But he’s got you doing his dirty work. Next thing you know, Barat will be breathing down your neck and then breaking it.” Miles shook his head and reached into his jacket for his cigarettes. He lit one, and took a few drags before proceeding to flick his ash into a pile right on the glass of Fogarino’s desk. 

“Organizations like this are built on loyalty. I’m sure a man such as yourself can understand the importance of it. So I’m also sure you can understand my displeasure at having Avery flit under my nose like he was some unique butterfly with bulletproof wings. He thought Clarke’s blessing would save him. In the end, it got him killed. I refuse to stand by and let someone try and demolish everything I’ve fought to build. Now, had I known Avery was technically your man, perhaps he’d still be alive so you could deal with him.”

“So you shot him point blank in the back of the skull,” Fogarino summed up flatly.

Miles took a breath and shrugged. “Yeah. I did.”

Fogarino narrowed his eyes and began to grin. Next, he chuckled, and he shook his head and pointed a finger at Miles. “You hesitated,” he sang nefariously. “Come one, you didn’t shoot Avery, Kane! Not some...what did you call him? A little butterfly? He was barely a blip on your radar. Now, a man like Homme, who tried to kill you, yes, I can see why you fed him to a crocodile. And his hired gun? What was his name? Hughes? Well shit, son, he pulled the goddamn trigger on you on two separate occasions so I don’t blame you for putting him down. The Morrison brothers? Ehhh, I dunno, kinda sloppy, not really your style, but then again, your big thing is loyalty, isn’t it? They were trying to screw over Barat and you didn’t like that. But Avery, Mr. Kane...Avery was my man. And if he was screwing me over, I should have been the one to deal with him. All he did to you was flirt with your boyfriend, and look fancy in a linen suit while he drank your champagne. He exploited your hospitality. He was a threat to your ego, Kane, and so I can’t see you dirtying your hands just for that reason.” He reached into his jacket and pulled his Desert Eagel out of the shoulder holster and set it on the desk so that everyone in the room could bear witness. “I want you to look me in the eye and tell me who shot Avery. Cuz then I’m gonna shoot him, and then we’ll both be satisfied.”

Miles opened his mouth again and Fogarino stood and lunged over the desk, jabbing the air with his finger once. “Don’t think for one second I won’t shoot you if you insist it was you,” he spat, his eyes flashing like mercury. “Martyrdom just doesn’t suit you.”

Miles looked down at the hand not clutching his cigarette and he weighed his options. He wasn’t certain he could cut any sort of deal with Fogarino now - Cas had been right, the man was a different breed altogether, and Clarke kept him at arm’s length for good reason.

“Was it Alex?” Fogarino murmured, tilting his head as he studied Miles. “Hmm? Did Alex save your ass, and now you’re trying to save his?”

Miles’ hand shook. “No,” he choked out.

“It was, wasn’t it?” He pounded the desk with his fist, making the gun, and his half empty glass, rattle. “Answer me, Kane, or I’m gonna start breaking bones.”

His chances were spent, all his cards on the table, and Miles opened his mouth, voice already breaking on the first syllable, “Al-”

“It were me.”

Miles’ head snapped up, and Fogarino’s gaze followed suit as Helders stepped forward.

“He speaks!” Fogarino exclaimed. “Holy shit, I thought the rumors were true and that you’d taken too many hits to the head!” He clapped his hands together almost giddily and looked at him almost in awe. “Trying to make for almost getting your boss killed in Chicago? A brave move,” Fogarino said as snatched the gun from his desk. “Brave,” he repeated with a nod, aiming straight at Helders. His finger slid over the trigger. “And stupid.”

Helders didn’t even have time to take a breath. The bullet was fired out of the chamber and came at him faster than any fist he’d ever faced. It cleared out the back of his skull half a second later then his body was falling to the floor.

Miles let out a breath, not quite sure what he’d just witnessed, and the cigarette floated down from his fingers, still burning. His mouth went dry and he struggled to stand before he stared down at the carpet as it was soaked almost black from the bullet hole blown through Helders’ skull.

“What the fuck,” Miles whispered shakily.

“Don’t act so fucking surprised, Kane. I told you what I was going to do. Helders knew I was going to do it. Why the fuck do you think he sacrificed himself? Hmm? Now, I’ve told the truth, I’m a man of integrity, I did what I said I was going to do. It’s time for you to do the same.” 

Miles stumbled backward and Cas caught him with a steady hand. Glancing up he saw how Cas stared at Fogarino, unblinking, merely waiting.

Fogarino was already talking, moving toward Miles, the gun still in his hand.. “Go back to LA, Kane. Go back to your mansion, your shitty little empire and your boy toy. Tell him Helders sacrificed himself for your ignorance. Let Clarke know what happened here and tell him that if he wants me dead he’d do better than to send a fucking Scouse with a crooked grin and a temper to take me out.” Fogarino raised the gun and brought the butt end down on the bridge of Miles’ nose.

White hot pain burst through his cheekbones, flared behind his eyelids, and then everything became muffled, and faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to Clive and Jill if you're reading this ;) If I still have friends, come say hi over on tumblr - you can find me @glassjacket


	16. Chapter 16

_Miles stumbled backward and Cas caught him with a steady hand. Glancing up he saw how Cas stared at Fogarino, unblinking, merely waiting._

_Fogarino was already talking, moving toward Miles, the gun still in his hand.. “Go back to LA, Kane. Go back to your mansion, your shitty little empire and your boy toy. Tell him Helders sacrificed himself for your ignorance. Let Clarke know what happened here and tell him that if he wants me dead he’d do better than to send a fucking Scouse with a crooked grin and a temper to take **me** out.” Fogarino raised the gun and brought the butt end down on the bridge of Miles’ nose._

_White hot pain burst through his cheekbones, flared behind his eyelids, and then everything became muffled, and faded to black._

+

In his suite at the Wynn resort in Las Vegas Miles blinked and tried to clear his vision, his head still throbbing from the blow he’d taken to the bridge of his nose. He was pretty sure nothing was broken, thank god, but it was hard to tell considering his hands were zip-tied together and now rested numbly in his lap. 

As his vision slowly blurred into shapes and colours he became aware of two things: he was seated in a lounge chair on the balcony overlooking the strip, and Cas was seated in front of him, gun trained casually as he spoke to someone. Not hearing another voice, Miles assumed he was on the phone, and he groaned softly and tried to sit a bit straighter.

“I’ll call you back. Prince Charming is waking up. Right. Thank you, Sir.” Cas ended his call and leaned forward in his chair, grinning as he reached for the stainless steel pitcher set on the table and poured a glass of water. “Thirsty?”

Miles rolled his tongue around his mouth, finding it thick and sticky, and closed his eyes again, letting out a sigh. “What the fuck, Cas,” he croaked.

“What the fuck indeed, Kane,” he chuckled. “I gotta say, I knew you were a sick mother fucker, but I never expected you to let Helders take the fall for this.”

Miles pressed his eyes closed. Behind his eyelids he watched the events from that afternoon in double time, but when the bullet went through Helders’ skull, everything slowed down. He’d seen the resolve in Helders’ face, and perhaps there had been a modicum of resolve, and a dose of venom in the way his jaw ticked. 

“Did you pass out on me again?” Cas asked sharply.

Forcing his eyes open he watched Cas as his fingers ached and throbbed where they hung in his lap. “Why the _fuck_ am I trussed up like a Christmas goose, Cas?” he asked archly.

“I’m following orders,” Cas shrugged. “I know it’s a concept you’re unfamiliar with, but some of us do play by the rules.”

“Whose orders?” Miles growled.

“Whose do you _think_?” Cas snorted and withdrew Miles phone from his pocket and set it down on the table before unhitching his gun from the shoulder holster and setting it next to the phone. “Clarke asked me to make sure you call Alex with a full report on the day’s activities. Then, I’m to escort you on a flight back to LA.” He opened the phone screen and dialled Alex’s number from memory before setting it to speaker mode, and picked up his gun. He trained it on Miles with a pleasant smile. “Tell him Helders is dead,” Cas began as the call connected and began to ring, “and let him know that you’ve got things to take care of, and that you’ll be home the day after tomorrow.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Miles snarled as Alex’s voicemail picked up.

Cas sighed and jammed his thumb against the ‘end call’ button and stood, pushing his chair back so that it scraped over the cement of the balcony. “Jesus, you just don’t quit, do you? You’re like a rabid dog, Kane, even with your back against the wall you’re trying to go for the jugular.” 

Miles shook his head. “Thought you were loyal to Barat?”

Cas grinned. “And who do you think Barat is loyal to?”

Miles scowled. “This whole time?” He cursed to himself. “This whole time you’ve been working for Clarke, another one of his fucking puppets-”

“You’re calling _me_ a puppet? Jesus, Kane, you saunter about thinking you’re the baddest bitch on the block but the moment Clarke says something you fold faster than Superman on laundry day. I’m surprised, actually. If I were you, I would have already killed Clarke, and anyone else who got in my way. A little too concerned with Alex, perhaps? No bother. He’ll make an excellent replacement.”

Miles’ eyes went wide. “Never,” he hissed. He shook his head for emphasis, felt the pain in his skull ebb, and he clenched his jaw against it. Alex couldn’t - he _wouldn’t_ \- 

_“When you get back I think...I think we need to talk, Mi. About this. About us.”_

Miles shook his head again. “No.”

“So fucking sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Cas sighed. “What do you think he’ll say when he finds out you were more than prepared to tell Fogarino that he shot Avery? Hmm?” With a shake of his head, Cas clicked his tongue and pressed redial before setting the barrel of his gun to Miles’ forehead. “Now, let’s try again, and hope that he picks up this time.”

+

Alex had given up trying to be taught a song and instead sat beside Jamie and watched as he deftly moved his fingers up and down the fretboard. He was good, Alex knew that from what he’d heard at Barat’s villa, but to actually be able to watch was another thing entirely. The perpetual broodiness that Jamie’s features seemed shackled with fell away to an open expression that was almost thoughtful, eyebrows raised slightly, his bottom lip jutting out. His cheeks were flushed as his blond hair fell over his eyes when he bowed his head. Whenever he’d come to something that sounded familiar Alex would find the words and the melody and contribute where he could, which made Jamie’s smile come full force.

The longer he played, the closer Alex got to him, missing the warmth and the intimacy they’d started with, but finding it again as Jamie’s hands slowed, and his gaze fell to the way Alex’s lips moved around lyrics. There was a soft smile, followed by a throaty giggle, and Alex ducked his head, brushing his hair from his forehead.

“You’re starin’, Jameh,” he pointed out.

“Can’t help it,” Jamie replied softly. The way Alex’s expression changed a half dozen times at any point in the song made Jamie’s breath catch. 

That was really the only reason he kept playing: for Alex’s obvious enjoyment. He would play for hours if it meant he could watch Alex, and a quick glance to the clock on his bedside told Jamie he’d done just that. It was after two pm already. The shift of weight on the mattress pulled Jamie’s attention back to the dark-eyed man perched next to him, one leg bent up, the other dangling, toes pressed to the carpet. With his hair falling softly around his dark eyes, Alex was simply gorgeous.

“You’re...really quite…” Jamie broke off with a helpless smile. “You’re amazing.”

Dark lashes fluttered at the admission, and Alex’s cheeks turned pinker, but he didn’t let his eyes stray from Jamie’s. “No, I’m not-”

“Yes, you are,” Jamie laughed with a shake of his head. “I know that’s a defense mechanism, Alex, denial, not seeing the truth. I mean, I don’t know how else I can put it to you: you’re unbelievably intelligent, and brave, and…” Once more Jamie trailed off and he looked away for a moment, the feeling inside of him tearing open every box he’d sorted his feelings into. “And someone is gonna end up getting hurt, Alex, but I don’t think it will be you.”

A small, feathery gasp escaped Alex’s mouth. Jamie swooped in, angled his head, and kissed Alex softly, swiftly. He pulled back for heartbeat, one that pounded in Alex’s veins, and then he was cupping Alex’s cheek, slipping the guitar from his lap to stand it on the floor against the bed. Then he turned and gathered Alex into the vacant space. 

It was just as intense as the kiss in Sicily, but they took their time tasting each other’s mouths with small, teasing kisses before returning to the long, drawn out plundering. Jamie relearned the curve of Alex’s outer thigh and Alex discovered just how warm Jamie was as the heat rose from his body and past the barrier of his grey henley. Wrapping his fingers into the length of Jamie’s hair Alex tugged, and drew him down to the mattress, making it known that he wanted Jamie over him. Shifting, Jamie took the invitation and half sprawled over Alex, his hand already slipping under the t shirt that covered that slender torso. The smaller man raised his hips in askance, and Jamie pulled their lower halves together, pressing his intention into Alex’s pelvis and giving a soft growl against Alex’s lips.

The sound made Alex’s heart leap and he let out an elated cry as he shivered in Jamie’s arms. He was vibrating everywhere, it seemed, in his arms, his chest, his hips, his thighs, buttocks…

A soft buzzing sound accompanied the vibration and Alex broke away from Jamie’s lips with a wet sound. “Wait,” he gulped.

“Wha?” Jamie asked dazedly, and though he drew back slightly, his hands still roamed under Alex’s shirt, skimming over skin and the fine hairs of his sternum.

“Wait, joost…” Alex’s voice was thick and he gently nudged Jamie off before he wiggled around and dug his hand into the back pocket of his jeans. His phone was buzzing madly with an incoming call and his throat closed off tightly as Miles’ name flashed across the screen. The clock at the top of the phone screen read 2:37 pm, and still Miles’ name danced on the screen before it suddenly stopped.

Jamie had seen it, too, and he was now sitting on the edge of the bed trying to catch his breath, watching as Alex let out a deflated sigh and sagged back against the mattress, pushing a hand back through his hair.

“He’ll leave a voicemail,” Alex rasped, his breath still coming rapidly. “Probably telling me when he’s comin’ ho-” He was cut off as the phone started buzzing with Miles again. “Fuck,” Alex hissed, sitting up and moving to the edge of the bed. He took a breath and then answered it, trying to make himself sound as calm as possible. “Mi, hey love, I’m sorreh I was in-”

Jamie watched now as Alex stood, furrowing his brow, listening to whatever Miles was relaying down the line. Suddenly, Alex’s body jerked upright from its usual slouch, as if electrocuted. The colour drained from his face and he stumbled backward to crash into a low dresser set against the wall.

Jamie was already off the bed and diving forward in a desperate attempt to catch him before he hit the ground.

+

“Fuck - take it easy!” Jamie growled as the cut on his forearm throbbed.

“I’m doing the best I can,” Valensi murmured, inspecting the gash that ran the length of Jamie’s forearm. “Well, it’s not deep, you won’t need stitches, but it’s a mess.” He tore open the package of a disinfecting wipe and dragged it over the wound. “How did you say this happened?”

Jamie jerked, and hissed. “I slipped by the pool,” he growled.

Valensi clicked his tongue. “Isn’t that like...a general rule? No running by the pool?”

“I were chasing Alex.”

_He watched as the phone slipped from Alex’s grip, and their little bubble of happiness burst as Alex turned grief-stricken features toward Jamie.”_

_“Alex,” Jamie said in a measured tone as he approached. “What is it?”_

_“Miles,” Alex said vacantly._

_“Something happened to Miles?”_

_Alex didn’t seem to hear Jamie. “Miles said that Helders is dead.”_

_Jamie drew back with shock. “He’s what?”_

_Alex frowned. “Fogarino shot him,” he explained flatly. He blinked as he heard his words, and then shook his head and finally looked at Jamie. “I have to…” His words were broken and he stumbled again, trying to move through the pool house towards the doors._

_“Wait - Alex!” Jamie made a grab for him but Alex was on the move, tearing open the sliding door and staggering outside._

_The sky opened up suddenly, and the rain came back in full force in deafening sheets. Alex’s bare feet slapped over the slick stone, and he wobbled a few times, making Jamie’s heart lurch before he took off in pursuit. He wasn’t as sure footed, and as he pushed himself to keep up he lost control, slipped, and skidded over the stone, the right side of his body taking the brunt of the fall. He landed with a grunt, the scrapes already stinging, and he looked up just as Alex scampered into the house, leaving the door wide open behind him._

_Jamie was up seconds later, skittering across the wet patio and falling into the house as blood slowly dripped down his arm and off of his elbow. Glancing down at the scrape, he deemed it superficial, and moved through the kitchen and toward the front entry to the main stairs. As he rounded the corner and the steps came into view, a door overhead slammed shut, the sound followed by a ragged, wounded scream that cut Jamie to the core._

“Cas called,” Valensi muttered. “I take it Alex knows, then, hey? About Helders?”

“Yeah,” Jamie sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “And he locked himself in his room.”

“Do we need to be concerned?”

“Are you asking me if he’s suicidal?”

Valensi shrugged. “Either that or he’s gonna make a break for it.” He taped a clean piece of gauze into place over Jamie’s arm and stood back. “That’s all I can do for it, mate. I’ll get Fab on the monitors downstairs right away. We’ll do it in shifts.”

“Did Cas say anything else?” Jamie asked as he stood and helped put things back into the first aid kit.

“Just that he and Miles would be home tomorrow evening sometime. He’s going to call again with the itinerary.”

“Are they bringing Helders back with them?”

“His body? I don’t know, I didn’t even think to ask. Probably not, considering it was Fogarino who took him out. They’ve already taken care of it I suppose. Why?”

“It’s nothing,” Jamie said as he slumped against the counter. “I’m gonna...go sit up by his room, then.” He pushed himself upright and made his way out of the kitchen. “Make sure he’s okay.”

“Right,” Valensi replied. “I’ll let you know if Fab sees anything on the monitors, or if I hear from Cas again.”

“Thanks,” Jamie replied as he left.

He climbed the stairs quietly, ear cocked in the direction of Alex’s room. The creak of floorboards told him that Alex was still moving around, and so Jamie sank down to the carpet on the other side of the doorframe, pressing his back to the wall and leaning his head back. Reaching out, he rapped softly with his knuckles.

“Alex,” he called out. He glanced down and watched the shadows move in the strip of light from under the door, and he was certain he heard a little hitch in Alex’s breath, and a soft sigh. “I’m sorry, Alex, I know you and Matt are - were - close. I...don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t know how you’re feeling right now. But you’re not alone, okay? I’m right here.” He pulled Alex’s phone from his pocket, having grabbed it from where he’d dropped it, and slipped it under the door. The shadows under the space moved again, and Jamie heard Alex pick the phone up.

“Go’way,” Alex’s muffled voice replied. “Please, just...go away, Jameh.”

“I’ll stay here all night if I have to-”

“Jamie!” Alex cried. “I can’t...I don’t wanna talk.”

The cold, hard fist of sorrow clawed at Jamie’s heart, and he waited a beat before replying, “You don’t have to-”

“An’ I don’t wanna listen, or reason, or even _think_ , all right?” He sniffed and then coughed. “I took summat, yeah? Summat to make me sleep. An when I wake up this will all be some nightmare. All of it.”

“Alex, tell me you didn’t take too much...” He didn’t think Alex would let it come to that, not after all he’d been through but...had this been the last straw? Jamie seethed at Miles’ stupidity, and his egocentric ways.

“That would be easy, wouldn’t it?” Alex replied sadly. “Easy, an’ clean, maybe. But I’m the one who did this, aye? He got shot because I couldn’t stand up to Miles when I needed to.”

“Fogarino is a madman,” Jamie countered. “There’s no saying why he did it, but he’ll pay for it, one way or another.”

“Oh, Jamie,” Alex laughed, “I know he will.”

There was a conviction in Alex’s words that both relieved and frightened Jamie. A man who spoke with that much finality wouldn’t let himself be defeated, or self-destruct at the last moment. The cold edge of his voice was the same one that had been present as he watched Homme's demise. Jamie suddenly realized without question that Alex wouldn't stop now until Matt’s death was avenged.

He waited there until he no longer heard Alex moving, just the deep, heavy snoring that signalled sleep, finally. He had no doubt that when Alex woke he’d be in no better state to face the realities of the situation head on, and Jamie would be ready for him. Leaving his post, he crept down the steps and moved into the lower level of the house to relieve Fab of his duty in the security room. Alone, Jamie set up camp and turned his attention to the monitor that displayed the hallway outside of Alex’s room. Then, he sent a secure text to O’Malley to update him on what had happened.

+

Alex woke with a start, sweating in the twisted sheets while lightning flashed on the walls of his bedroom. It was dark now and he rubbed his eyes before finding his phone and checking the time. It was close to nine pm, and he immediately opened the phone and dialled Miles’ number. He let it ring through to voicemail and then disconnected with a frown. He needed to hear Miles’ voice; the call that afternoon seemed so long ago, and Alex wondered if it really _had_ been a dream. Before he knew it he was dialling his voicemail and picking up the message from Helders that he’d saved from yesterday.

He didn’t sound dead, but of course that was silly. Swinging his legs to the edge of the bed Alex reached for his cigarettes and lit one, and smoked while he listened to Helders’ message.

_“Listen, I don’t want you to panic but...summat ain’t right here.”_

And there it was: Helders had known something was off and he’d given clear warning to Alex, who’d agreed with Helders’ next statement about being jittery. He shivered at the fatal irony and ended the call, letting the phone fall from his trembling hands.

That was it. There would be nothing else from Helders. There was no one to comfort him in this moment because the only person who could was gone. An ache started to swell in his throat and his chest, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the ringing in his ears. Teeth clamped together, Alex let loose an anguished cry and clenched his fists, digging them into his thighs as Miles’ last call came back to him from some far-off place, deep under water.

_“There’s really no way to tell you this Alex. Helders - Matthew - he’s dead. Fogarino shot him.”_

Matthew J Helders was gone, and he’d taken all of Alex’s secrets with him.

With a gasp, Alex surged to his feet and stormed about his room, unsure of what exactly he was doing, or where he was going. He fumbled around, picking up his cigarettes, knocking things aside, until at last he swept his arm over the top of the low table and sent everything - paint, brushes, cocaine, the ashtray - crashing to the floor. He needed _out_. Tearing at his hair he yanked the door open and sped down the hall, catching the banister to stop before he overshot the stairs. There, he panted, vision swimming, and he staggered down the steps, feet moving faster as he was chased by the sudden swarm of loneliness that threatened to attack.

He stumbled through the living room, passing Fab who was camped out in front of the TV and suddenly stood as Alex burst into the room.

“Mr. Turner?” he asked cautiously, but Alex was already gone, crashing into the kitchen, tearing open the patio door, and racing out into the flooded night.

He was soaked within seconds; the rain had come once more and this time it seemed to unleash everything it had. It was fitting, perhaps, and Alex stood for a moment, swaying on the spot, as he watched the surface of the pool be torn open by each drop that sailed down from the sky. The lights below were dark; the water itself seemed endless and he wondered if he jumped now would he hit the bottom, or would he finally keep his head above the surface?

“Oh god,” he croaked softly, taking a gulp of air. It didn’t seem to reach his lungs and he tried again, taking another deep breath. Nothing. “Matthew,” he said softly, as his chest constricted on itself, diaphragm cinching tight. He shivered, and wrapped his arms around himself as he wheezed and coughed, trying to calm his breath. A thin whine followed each exhalation, a pitiful sound for the pitiful scene he knew he was creating. He didn’t care. He couldn’t feel anything, not even when a pair of hands wrapped around his biceps and yanked him back before turning him around.

“Alex!” Jamie barked. He shook Alex hard.

Alex blinked, but his eyes didn’t focus, and his body gave a violent shiver.

“Jesus, Alex, what the fuck,” Jamie implored. It was rhetorical, or at least seemed to be. Alex was in no condition to reply to anything within his state of shock. His skin was like cold rubber beneath Jamie’s fingers, and his lips were purple and trembling. Dark circles haunted the space beneath eyes gone almost black and Jamie cursed again, before firmly coaxing Alex back toward the house.

Alex shook his head. “No,” he managed to choke, as he fought with his breath. He swallowed and forced himself to calm down. “No, not there,” he pleaded.

Flicking his soaked hair from where it stuck to his forehead, Jamie nodded, and motioned to the pool house with his chin. “C’mon.”

Alex needed no further convincing, and let Jamie take him under arm and lead him out of the rain.

+

“Here,” Jamie said, sitting Alex down on the sofa and handing him a towel. “I’ll get you a dry shirt.”

“Thank you,” Alex mumbled, rubbing the towel over his hair and then down his face and arms. He looked around the pool house and was struck with a strange feeling. Had he just been there that afternoon? It had been light then; the clouds still in the sky, but it cast everything silver. Now it was dark, the sky keeping a blueish haze from the courtyard lights, and it flashed with bursts of lightning as the thunder rolled closer.

Jamie came back, his own soaked shirt discarded, towel slung over his shoulders, and he deposited two tumblers to the low table in front of the sofa, and then poured a healthy measure of whiskey into each. “Drink,” he urged, picking up his own glass and swallowing half of it in one gulp. He shivered from the cold - he hadn’t planned on chasing Alex down by the pool, but he’d watched the younger man’s sudden ejection from his bedroom, his flight down the stairs, and how he’d torn out into the storm all on the monitor in the security room. By the time he’d made it outside, Alex’s toes were curling the edge of the pool as he stared down into the depths of it, his body swaying like a reed.

Alex’s lips were still numb, still too purple for Jamie’s liking, and he sat himself next to Alex, their thighs pressed together. He grabbed the other glass from the table before helping Alex grasp it with a shaking hand. “Drink it, Alex,” he muttered, staring until finally Alex nodded and took a sip.

“What the hell were you doing out there?” Jamie growled, lifting Alex’s glass, and the hand that held it, back to his mouth.

Alex took another sip and blinked, staring down at the bottle on the table as he swallowed. “I…I’m scared,” he answered in a small voice.

Jamie’s heart ached. “I know,” he replied gently. “Scared is good.”

“No, you don’t…I’m alone now,” Alex went on, his voice turning hollow. “It’s joost me in this house with these ghosts an’ I can’t be alone here, I can’t, I won’t survive, I-“ his voice began to rise with panic as his eyes widened.

“Alex, you’re all right. You’re safe.” He set his glass down and touched Alex’s cheek, drawing those dark eyes to his. “I’m here.”

Alex licked his lips and nodded, and drained his glass before setting it down and pouring another. A violent shudder ran through his limbs and Jamie frowned, plucking at Alex’s soaked t shirt. “Jesus, c’mon, why are you still wearing this?” 

The smaller man shrugged, but leaned forward, and let Jamie tug the offending garment up his frame. Then Jamie wrapped the towel he’d given him around his shoulders, and he rubbed his palms up and down the outside of Alex’s arms, creating some friction. Alex sat motionless for a moment while Jamie worked on drying his skin. The rhythm of Jamie’s touch sank into his bones and felt himself lean in and with ragged a sigh he rested his forehead against the towel draped over Jamie’s shoulder.

Jamie paused, glancing down at the top of Alex’s dark head, but then circled his hand to his back, rubbing the spine and shoulder blades while he moved closer, resting his chin on top of Alex’s head. For a while, Alex seemed content, but then he reached out a hand and laid it on Jamie’s wrist, stilling the blond’s movement. Leaning in close enough that he could smell the whiskey on Jamie’s breath, Alex looked up from under is wet hair as he moved his hand to curve it behind Jamie’s neck. His face was wet, but not from the rain, and his eyes were still glassy as determination quickly poured in a second later. With a quick tug Alex brought their mouths within an inch of one another, and he stared at Jamie’s lips for a moment before he moved his gaze to Jamie’s.

“I don’t wanna be alone,” Alex decided, breathing the words over Jamie’s mouth.

“You’re not,” Jamie replied.

“Show me,” Alex pleaded before kissing Jamie.

Jamie kissed him right back, picking up where they’d left off that afternoon and adding to it. It was so much more now after what had happened, perhaps an affirmation of life, but more importantly, a declaration of Alex’s sudden need to be free. He’d made his move and Jamie savoured it, welcomed it, and let Alex crawl into his lap as the kiss deepened.

Alex’s mouth was still cool, but it was warming rapidly from Jamie’s lips and tongue, and they were both smoky and sweet from the whiskey. The heat soon spread through their limbs and chest, and Alex let out a shaky breath as he leaned up and forward, sliding their naked torsos together. Jamie groaned and held Alex to him, raising his hips and pulling Alex down as he wrapped his arms around him. He hissed as his bandaged arm pressed against Alex's back and Alex pulled back with a concerned pout, glancing down to Jamie's arm.

"What happened?" He asked, fingers gently tracing the bandage. He looked back to Jamie's face.

"It's nothing," Jamie said, shaking his head, reaching now to push hair from Alex's eyes. "I slipped."

"Chasing me," Alex said with realization, flashes of that afternoon coming back to him. It emboldened him, the fact that Jamie had given chase, had injured himself in an attempt to go after Alex and ensure his wellbeing.

Alex took a breath and, shifting in Jamie’s solid hold, managed to press his hands to every inch of bare skin he could reach, scraping blunt nails down Jamie’s chest and scratching through the soft golden hair there, and moving down, moaning as Jamie’s muscles flexed in reply. Catching Alex’s ass in his palms Jamie squeezed, and pulled, and shifted Alex up and down his pelvis, grinding them together until they were both panting, and tugging at the buttons of their jeans.

It was Alex who staggered back to his feet and made short work of Jamie’s jeans and boxers, leaving the blond gasping and reaching for Alex’s hand. Alex was quick, and he dropped to his knees, his mouth already on the inside of Jamie’s knees as his hands pressed those hard thighs apart. His lips moved higher still and he felt Jamie settle a hand in his hair. Alex wrapped his own hand around Jamie’s length, tugging it to full capacity before leaning down to take him into his mouth.

The first hot surge of Alex’s tongue made Jamie cry out. He hadn’t been expecting it, not with the urgency in the moment, and he let Alex make a few more passes with his velvet mouth before he was pulling him up and kissing him roughly as he did. “Later,” Jamie gasped, reaching for Alex’s jeans as he stood and nodded, bottom lip jutting. 

The damp denim was tugged down Alex’s narrow hips, followed by his boxer briefs, and Jamie smiled up at him as he took Alex into his hand and stroked him a half dozen times. His other hand wedged itself under a couch cushion, searching frantically as Alex watched, panting, and then groaning as his hand covered Jamie’s.

Finally Jamie produced a small bottle of lubricant, clicking it open and pouring it into his palm before he took up Alex’s cock once more. When he’d slicked Alex to his satisfaction he growled, pushing the lube into Alex’s hand before pulling him down to his lap. “C’mere.” He kissed Alex again and reached his hand down between Alex’s cheeks, gently pressing his fingers as he went, first one, then two, opening Alex up.

Alex moaned, his eyelashes fluttering, and he quickly covered Jamie’s length with the slick fluid before dropping the bottle to the floor and raising up on his knees. “Now,” Alex gasped, already reaching between them to steady Jamie’s cock. He didn’t wait for a response from Jamie, merely moved him into place and eased himself down onto Jamie’s length.

Almost immediately, Alex started to shake. Or was that Jamie? They watched one another with wide eyes, pupils blown, as Alex took every inch of Jamie’s length inside. When there was nothing left he paused and allowed himself a few more breaths to adjust. Jamie was thick, deliciously so, and he filled in all the spaces Alex didn’t realize were there. Alex thought he might die happily right then and there, but then Jamie moved deep inside of him, a subtle flex of muscles, 

A soft, low moan welled in Alex’s chest and pushed past his lips. “Oh, _fuck_ , Jameh,” he sighed, letting his hands fall to Jaime’s shoulders. He shifted his hips back and forth, and smiled as Jamie’s hands moved to grip his thighs.

“Yeah?” Jamie breathed, reaching a hand up to push Alex’s hair from his eyes. Christ, he felt good, felt good everywhere, really, but Jamie was focused on how Alex’s body welcomed him, and grasped him snugly in soft heat. He told himself to stay focused, that Alex was in a delicate state, physically and emotionally, but his body was responding to every signal Alex’s was giving.

Alex nodded and slowly began rocking. “Yeah,” he sighed, loving the way Jamie held him. He hissed as a sharp lick of pleasure shot up his spine and bloomed into his limbs, and locked his fingers together behind Jamie’s neck. “Oh, _god_ , yeah.” He rolled his hips again and let his head fall back.

Jamie bucked beneath Alex, and it took a few moments to find their pace and their rhythm, but when it finally settled it felt like the most natural thing. It sped up quickly, too - the time for lovemaking would come later, if it was meant to be. Right now hard and fast was on the menu and Alex pushed his pelvis down as he rocked into Jamie’s thrusts, stealing wet kisses and grunting his pleasure as Jamie worked beneath him, solid, warm muscles flexing, his skin all burnished in the low lights of the seating area. Above him, Alex moved his slender frame almost obscenely, and his mouth hung open as he panted, his features flinching with each hot twist of arousal spiked through him. It was another side of Alex he thought he’d never get a glimpse of and Jamie stared as he felt his orgasm approaching much too swiftly for his liking. 

Growling, he wrapped a hand into Alex’s hair and pulled him in for another kiss. “I wanted you last night,” he confessed, and a hot moan sailed out of Alex’s throat. “Right there on the table. I wanted you this afternoon,” he continued, making Alex whine and nod, and steal another sharp, wet kiss. “And I want you now,” Jamie breathed, curving his fingers around Alex’s ass and pulling him close as he suddenly pounded up into Alex’s quaking body. “I want you, “ he repeated. “I want you.”

“Yes,” Alex sobbed, clinging to Jamie’s shoulder, pushing his face into his neck and setting his teeth to the flesh. “Yes, Jamie, _yes_ ,” he begged, his own hips rattling down to meet Jamie. He held Jamie tighter as the space between his hips began to burn sweetly. Finding Jamie’s mouth once more he moaned into a searing kiss. He reached between their bodies and was met with Jamie’s hand, and together they wrapped their fingers around Alex’s length. As Alex showed Jamie just what he needed in that moment, Jamie’s hips became erratic, almost punishing. Feeling Alex pulse in his grip pushed him over the edge in a spiralling rush, and Alex came hotly half a second later.

When he’d floated back down, Alex pushed away from Jamie’s chest, his breath still laboured, and he smiled shyly as Jamie grinned up at him and rubbed circles on his thighs with firm hands.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful,” Jamie breathed, his blue eyes dazed as he took in Alex’s flushed skin, damp now with sweat, and the drops of release smeared across his chest and belly.

Biting his lip, Alex went to move from Jamie’s lap, but Jamie stopped him. “No,” he murmured. “Stay. I don’t wanna be alone, either.”

With a nod, Alex agreed, and he eased back down Jamie’s chest, closing his eyes. A few moments later, and after a bit of Jamie moving about, a blanket was flung over his back, draping down over both of them. Alex shifted his hips and gave a little growl of disappointment as Jamie slipped from his body, but his eyes were already closing, his fingers tracing the freckles on Jamie’s skin as the sound of the pouring rain and Jamie’s breath finally pushed him to sleep.

+

Jamie was roused by the sudden, soft buzz of his phone next to the bed, and he twisted around as best he could with Alex plastered against his chest. After a few moment’s reprise on the couch, Jamie had gathered enough energy to shuttle both of them to the bed, where Alex immediately slipped into a deep sleep, and Jamie slept like he always did: half-alert, aware of his surroundings. Keeping his eyes trained on Alex’s sleeping face, Jamie searched blindly on his bedside table until he located his phone.

A message from O’Malley was waiting and, not wanting to run the risk of waking Alex (though it seemed impossible with the way his weight had sank against Jamie and pinned him to the mattress), Jamie finally managed to wiggle out from under Alex and pad softly to the bathroom. He closed the door, flicked on the light, and then opened O’Malley’s message.

_**Warrant in place. Team being assembled. Standby for location and time.** _

This was it then: his final hours with Alex. Jamie let out a breath and set his phone down on the counter and then stared at himself in the mirror. _Helders is dead_ , he told himself, _and it’s only a matter of time before Alex is past the point of return_. Turning on the taps Jamie cupped his hands under the warm water and splashed it on his face, rubbing at his eyes and his jaw.

_“This is what happens when you get your dick involved,” Cas muttered darkly from where he stood next to Jamie, the two of them watching as Katie’s body was recovered from the ocean by the Italian authorities. It hadn’t even looked like her when they’d turned her over, eyes already glazed over with white, lips blue, face bloated, hair a matted, mottled blonde. She looked like she weighed a thousand pounds, and Jamie felt that way, too._

_It’s not the same_ , he reasoned, standing upright and reaching for a towel. He wiped his face and then turned to the toilet, emptying his bladder as he rolled his head across his shoulders. _Alex won’t meet that end - he can’t_. When he was finished his business he washed his hands, found a face cloth and wiped himself down, and then left the bathroom, in search of his bed.

He found Alex sitting up on the edge of the mattress, back towards him, much like he’d found him earlier that day. The only difference was he was naked, and the light made a play over the lean muscles of his back, and the lines of his spine, down to where the sheets were pooled at his hips. Sensing Jamie behind him Alex turned slightly, his profile suddenly lit by an errant flash of lightning. The storm was lingering, but had eased its temper.

“I woke up an’ you weren’t here,” Alex murmured.

“I’m sorry,” Jamie replied, moving across the space to Alex’s side of the bed. 

He knew Jamie’s apology to be sincere. Alex followed Jamie’s movements until the older man was standing in front of him. He felt his cheeks burn as he took in Jamie’s nudity, his dark eyes focused on muscle and tendons, soft golden hair, warm, supple skin. He licked his lips and hesitantly reached out, dragging his fingertips over the edge of Jamie’s hip. He’d not touched another man since he’d been with Miles, not the way he was touching Jamie. Everything about the blond fascinated him, but what struck Alex most of all was the patience Jamie exuded, and the desire that simmered just below the surface. Alex turned his hand, and skimmed over the top of Jamie’s thigh, and his mouth softly opened as he watched Jamie stir to life.

Jamie otherwise stood motionless, his breath caught in his throat as he watched Alex look at him.

“I’ve...never wanted somethin’...somebody the way I want you, Jamie.” He quickly glanced up with a raw stare. “An’ it scares me, an’ excites me, an’...” his breath came faster as he spoke and he suddenly drew his hand back as if burned. “I never thought to want something for meself.”

With a groan Jamie caught Alex’s searching hand and cupped his face with the other, leaning down to kiss Alex until they were both breathless. Jamie knew he needed to stop but he couldn’t seem to make the connection between the rational part of his brain and his limbs which moved of their own accord. He pushed Alex back against the bed, climbed over him, lips still moving against his mouth until the need to breathe caused them both to break apart with a gasp. 

Jamie gazed down at Alex, his dark hair in errant waves about his head, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and warm and brown. “You have a bit of green in your eyes,” Jamie murmured, before ducking his head and setting his mouth against Alex’s shoulder. “And freckles here,” he added, licking a bit of skin before he pulled it between his teeth. Alex moaned, and grabbed at Jamie’s back.

Sitting back on his heels, Jamie slid his hands to Alex’s face once more, palming the knife-edge jaw, dragging his thumb over Alex’s bottom lip. Catching the digit before it moved, Alex bit the pad of Jamie’s thumb, and then sucked, and let it go from his mouth so that Jamie could trace a wet path down his chin and over his throat. There, Jamie paused, and tucked his fingers under the platinum links of the chain Alex wore. Dark lashes fluttered, and Alex closed his fingers around Jamie’s. He then leaned up, unclasped the thing, and drew it from its resting place, before letting it slip from his fingers a cool puddle of metal on the bedside table. A second later Jamie was tracing Alex’s bare collarbones. Alex arched into the touch, his skin pulling up into a wave of gooseflesh, his nipples hardening as Jamie brushed his fingertips over them. He whimpered in reply, and Jamie’s gaze softened as he focused on the feel of Alex’s skin, and every minute reaction he could elicit.

Alex watched as Jamie seemed to withdraw into himself, his brows knitting as he contemplated Alex’s body. When he saw Jamie’s jaw tighten, and his eyes turned a cloudy gray as his hand stilled, Alex laid his own hand over it, resting there in the middle of his chest, and he reached for Jamie with his other hand.

“Don’t stop,” he begged softly, memorizing the feel of Jamie’s whiskers scraping over his palm. He gently urged Jamie on with a subtle flex of his body. “Please, Jameh?”

Jamie closed his eyes and shook his head, the vision of Alex on his back gazing up at him quickly dissolving into that of Katie floating lifelessly in the ocean. “ _Jameh_?” he heard her whisper. He opened his eyes quickly, and blinked back sudden tears.

“What is it?” Alex asked, sitting up as Jamie sat back. 

“I…” Jamie broke off and looked at Alex. “I won’t let what happened to her happen to you,” he said suddenly.

Alex blinked and nodded. “I know,” he replied. He then reached for Jamie once more, laying his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Tell me about her?”

“What?” Jamie breathed.

“Tell me about Katie. I want to know…” He smiled sadly. “I want to know about this person who stole your heart.”

Jamie shook his head. “There’s not much to tell. We fell in love and she died.”

Alex pursed his lips at Jamie’s stubborn nature. “That’s not what I meant. I mean...what was she like?”

Jamie lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “She were…” he paused and looked at his hands where they rested in his lap. “She were sunshine,” he sighed. “I mean, she was this tiny slip of it, warm and bright and cheerful, for the most part at least, blonde, blue eyes. Her smile were the best part of me day. She were beautiful.”

Alex smiled, watching now as Jamie settled back against the pillows, and Alex went to him, sliding in next to him to rest his head on Jamie’s chest as Jamie’s arm wrapped over his shoulder.

“She used to joke about how young I was - I was two years older than her, you know? But young like...I hadn’t seen much. And she was right. I mean, in a lot of ways, I knew things but...a life like this you don’t really know until you’re in it.”

Alex nodded. “Yes,” he agreed softly.

“When I met her I knew I was done for,” Jamie continued, a fondness creeping into his voice. “I thought I could keep things separate. Work and pleasure. But she was part of the job. First and foremost, she worked for Barat. He...he took that part of her away, that brightness.”

Alex frowned where he was curled against Jamie’s chest, and closed his eyes as Jamie’s fingers settled in his hair. It felt natural, and it put an ache in Alex’s throat. When had he and Miles ever lain like this? As Jamie’s voice continued, the sound vibrating against Alex’s face where it was pressed against Jamie, Alex realized that Katie’s story was very similar to his. He lay still as Jamie went on.

“I tried to get her back to England, back to her family. It was stupid really, but by then I wasn’t thinking rationally. You rarely do when you’re in love, and it’s threatened. All I knew was that I wanted Katie as far away from Barat, and that life, as possible.”

“That’s why you’re so adamant about me leaving?” Alex ventured. 

“I swore to myself that I’d never get involved on the job again.” Jamie chuckled mirthlessly. “An’ I forgot meself when you waltzed down the steps that morning we arrived.” His hand shifted and his thumb traced over the faint scar on Alex’s cheekbone.

Alex stiffened and covered Jamie’s hand with his own. “How did she die?”

Jamie took a breath and rolled the question around for a moment. “She drowned. Or, that was the official decision on the autopsy report. She was high, had trace amounts of coke in her system, but when didn’t she? Barat had her hooked on that stuff when she was seventeen.” Jamie’s voice turned cold suddenly. “She jumped. That was how Barat tells the story at least. Says she got high an’ just took a leap. I know that’s not the truth, because I know what kind of man Barat is. An’ I was there when they fished her out the ocean.”

Alex shuddered then, and it seemed to draw Jamie from whatever trance he’d been in. His thumb slid over Alex’s scar once more as he glanced down, finding Alex’s wide eyes staring back. “I didn’t want to have to repeat that,” he finished softly, glancing out to the pool deck before looking back at Alex.

Alex looked away, pulling his lip between his teeth, and he sat up a moment later, pulling his knees to his chest as Jamie’s hand splayed on his back.

“I used to swim all the time.”

“I know,” Jamie said.

“How…?” Alex looked back over his shoulder at Jamie.

“Helders told me.”

The mention of Helders’ name was almost too much and Alex’s throat closed as he squeezed his eyes shut with a nod. He turned back to the window. “Did he tell you why I stopped?” he asked cautiously, his chest burning as he waited for the answer.

“No,” Jamie said softly. No, he hadn't been told, but he knew enough from the evidence he and O’Malley had gathered to draw his own conclusions.

Alex drew a long breath. “When Miles got shot in Chicago...that’s when things began to solidify. That dreamy haze I were livin’ in sorta just disappeared, an’ I was alone. Even when he was here recovering afterward, I was alone, hiding in the shadows and the hallways, trying to keep from bein’ seen too much. This house has too many eyes. An’ Homme was suddenly here.” Alex shook his head. “I don’t even know why he was here, but he were an’...” he stopped again and got to his feet, and wandered around the pool house to where he and Jamie had left their glasses and the bottle of whiskey. He poured a measure out and then drank slowly as he came to stand at the patio doors, his naked back to Jamie, nose almost pressed to the glass as he watched the dark surface of the pool ripple.

“Homme caught him one night, swimmin’ there. He’d been unsuccessful in trapping his prey previously, but that night…” Alex shook his head and he took another swallow of whiskey. “That night he got it right. Caught him unawares. Lured that stupid boy down and away from prying eyes. Down to where no one would hear him scream.”

Jamie’s blood ran cold and he sat up, staring at Alex as he continued his narrative.

“The bastard left his marks...on the surface,” Alex touched his cheekbone, “an’ beneath. He dug the boy’s own grave deep inside. Made him bleed the first time. Made him scream the second. Third, fourth, however many times it took; he made him beg for it in the end.” Alex snorted. “Better that boy had drowned that night.” He swallowed the remainder of the whiskey. 

“But he didn’t, did he?” Jamie asked from where he still sat among the bedclothes. Alex referring to himself, or another version of himself, in third person wasn’t alarming; Jamie was well aware this was a coping mechanism after the type of assault Alex had been through. It didn’t make it any easier to hear, however, especially when Alex’s voice went hollow.

“Part of him lived, at least,” Alex shrugged. “Long enough to see Homme’s end.” His fist tightened at his side. “But even that was taken from him.” He turned then, and pushed a hand through his hair. “Everything that was left...it didn’t get put back together the way it was before. How could it? I tried with Miles but...that’s all I could do, was try, make an attempt at what we once were but suddenly he seemed so much like the very thing I loathed. I thought I’d forgotten.” He licked his lips and walked slowly to the bed, turning to sit on the corner before he hung his head between his shoulders. “An’ up until this moment, that story had died with Matthew.”

Alex’s confession hung on the air for a moment, until Jamie finally spoke. “Miles doesn’t…?”

“No,” Alex answered sharply. “God, _no_. I can’t even think what he’d do if he found out.”

“Surely he must have noticed something.”

Alex arched an eyebrow at Jamie. “You think Miles notices anything that isn’t directly related to him?”

“But even like...when you two…” Jamie broke off awkwardly.

“That were always more like...built into the job description, as it were,” Alex muttered wryly. “It weren’t always like that,” he rushed to say. “I love him. I think I loved him from the moment we met but...things were different after. After he was shot an’ after I…” Alex stumbled on his words as a fresh wave of shame washed over him, and he drew his knees to his chest “It hurt,” he said in a small voice. “The first few times, an’ then I learned to just sorta let myself go somewhere else.” He closed his eyes as the weight shifted on the mattress and he felt Jamie settle beside him. “It were always about Miles, anyway,” Alex continued. “He’d get off, an’ sometimes I did. Sometimes I didn’t.” He shrugged, almost resigned to it, but at the last moment he peeked at Jamie from over his shoulder. “That were the first time in a long time,” he said, motioning towards the couch with his head.

Jamie tried to hide his smirk, but found he couldn’t, and he set his chin on Alex’s arm, bringing their eyes within centimeters of each other. “You sorta took the reins on that one,” he pointed out. “Not that I minded, though.” He winked, and chuckled when Alex did.

Alex picked up his head with a smile, and unfolded himself from where his arms were wrapped around his body. “I didn’t think it could be like this. That I could have something like this, that someone would want me in the same way. You’re nothing like him, Jamie,” Alex whispered, refusing to utter Miles’ name for fear of ruining the moment. He took a breath and continued.

“Up until that-” he paused, glancing at the couch- “I didn’t think I were deserving of it. To be touched, an’ held, an’...made to feel like that,” he explained, scooting back to the middle of the mattress, tugging Jamie with him. “And now I don’t think I can live without it.” He bit his lip as he watched Jamie crawl between his thighs, hands pushing his knees wide, and back.

“I don’t think I could ever hold out on you,” Jamie admitted, depositing a swift kiss on Alex’s lips before lowering himself so that his mouth hovered over Alex’s thickening cock. His fingers dug into the firm globes of Alex’s ass and gently pulled. He looked up suddenly, as if remembering himself. “Tell me if it’s too much?”

Alex nodded and let his eyes drift shut as Jamie’s mouth descended, and for the first time in almost two years, allowed himself to believe something like this could be good.

+

“You have a constellation on your arse cheek,” Alex later murmured against the small of Jamie’s back, his fingertips tracing over the path of freckles he was referring to.

With his head pillowed on his arms at the head of the bed, Jamie smiled and pushed his hips into the mattress with a groan. “I’ve been told that before.”

“Tart,” Alex snarked, before he leaned down and bit Jamie square on the buttock. Jamie bucked with a shout and Alex ducked out of the way with a giggle before throwing a leg over Jamie’s back and sitting on him. “Easy, fella,” he murmured, his hands stroking over the muscles roped along Jamie’s torso and back. “Gods, I could spend hours doing this,” Alex breathed. “You’re fookin’ sexy.”

“Shut up,” Jamie groused, reaching behind him to swat at Alex, and failing.

“M’serious,” Alex went on. “I didn’t think there were owt underneath all o’that hair when you first showed up but...you clean up well.” Alex flattened himself on Jamie’s back and scooped his arms under Jamie’s chest, scrubbing over the dark golden curls there before moving lower. Alex hummed appreciatively and searched lower still, kissing Jamie behind the ear as Jamie raised his hips. “Still got a bit o’fuzz tho, eh? I like that.” His hand found Jamie’s cock and he squeezed suggestively.

“Al,” Jamie whined, twisting until Alex moved out of the way. When he’d settled on his back Alex perched in his lap, taking a hold of Jamie’s cock once more. “I don’t know if I can,” he admitted with a defeated sigh. 

“You don’t have to do anything,” Alex declared, moving down between Jamie’s thighs. “But just for the record, this is still about me.”

Jamie lifted his head from the pillow and gave Alex a pointed look. “Really,” he said flatly.

“Mm hm,” Alex nodded, tongue flashing quick and pink to slip over Jamie’s tip.

Jamie’s thighs tensed and he lurched up, hand clamping over the back of Alex’s neck.

“See?” Alex said, dark eyes flashing. “That’s what I want: you, at my mercy.” He kissed Jamie’s cock then, and opened his mouth to take him inside.

Alex made a pleasured sound in his throat as he swallowed around Jamie’s length, let his tongue wrap around and flutter until Jamie’s toes were curling. Pulling off, Alex panted, and stroked Jamie with his hand. “M’not stoppin’ till you come in me mouf, Jameh.”

“Ah, fuck, Alex,” Jamie murmured, tangling his fingers into Alex’s hair before pushing him down.

+

Dawn was creeping over the lavender sky as Jamie pushed into Alex for the fourth time, hissing at how welcoming his body still was. He gathered Alex into his arms, the smaller man already trembling. There was an edge to Alex’s kisses, teeth pressing into Jamie’s bottom lip, and he scraped his blunt nails over Jamie’s flanks. He raised his hips frantically, rocking into Jamie, seeking something just out of reach. 

With a growl Jamie pinned Alex to the mattress by his wrists, and narrowed his gaze down at the smaller man. “What,” he breathed, butting his hips into Alex’s and grunting. “What do you want?”

Alex moaned and pushed upward with his hips, tugging against Jamie’s hold. The entire night had been like this: Alex made a request, and Jamie complied. Sometimes Jamie could read him before he even said anything, but he’d wait, make Alex say it, take it for himself, and now was no exception. Huffing a sigh, Alex dropped his head back to the pillow and curled a lip up at Jamie. “M’not made o’glass, Jameh,” he growled, reaching now to grab Jamie’s ass and haul him deeper. “Fuckin’ fuck me already.”

The request made Jamie go rigid and press tightly into Alex’s snug heat. Alex arched and shuddered, and let out a sharp wail, but his hands still held Jamie’s arms and pulled him down. “More,” Alex begged, pulling his knees back in an attempt to convey his need. 

Everything Jamie had done had been to his liking, and beyond that, but there was a part of Alex that was needy, a sensation he was unfamiliar with, and it clawed at him from the inside and left him raw and tingling. He arched beneath Jamie, and twisted, mumbling ‘more’ over and over until Jamie relented, and slipped from the warmth of Alex’s body to turn him over.

“Like this?” Jamie asked huskily, already palming Alex’s hip and pulling his lower half off of the bed. His other hand pressed Alex’s thighs apart before reaching between his own and holding himself steady at Alex’s hole, already pressing forward. 

Surely Homme had taken him like this, given the toe print on the tile. Jamie paused, waiting for a sound, some reflex, _something_ to keep him in check. He’d willingly held this part of himself back all night, and had sought nothing more than Alex’s own pleasure. But hours at the smaller man’s mercy had whittled his control down to a fine thread, and Alex held it in his fingertips, threatening to snap it with every gasp and sigh he heaved.

If it bothered Alex, it didn’t show, and he nodded and reached behind him to hold Jamie’s hip. Pulling at the man behind him Alex breathed and didn’t let up until the backs of his thighs were brushed with the hair on Jamie’s. “Do it,” he begged.

“Alex,” Jamie hesitated.

“I want you to,” Alex pleaded. He arched his spine and clutched the sheets as he pressed his forehead to the bed. Rolling his hips back resulted in a moan melting off of Jamie’s tongue, and Alex glanced back as best he could. “You won’t hurt me,” Alex insisted with a sober gaze. “You never could.”

Jamie’s reply was purely physical, and he draped himself down over Alex’s back, pushing his hips into Alex as he dragged the smaller man back with a hard thrust. It made Alex gasp, and his fingers flexed on the sheets and then twisted them, his knees sliding further apart. A broken wail threaded into the silence, another gasp, a hoarse cry, and Alex sobbed as Jamie butted his hips against Alex’s ass, quickly building them to a fast tempo. Reaching a hand into Alex’s dark hair, Jamie pushed, turning Alex’s head to the side, his cheek pressed to the bed as his mouth opened on another breathless cry of Jamie’s name. In the next moment, Alex smiled, and nodded best he could, and cried out in pure elation as Jamie pounded quickly, and shallowly, his own face drawn in concentration as he felt sharp tremors of arousal pulse through him. His moans soon joined Alex’s, their voices competing with the sounds of skin against skin, heavy breath, and the creak of the headboard as it connected with the wall.

Arching over Alex’s torso, Jamie brought his mouth level with Alex’s ear and breathed encouragement there while he reached beneath Alex’s body, his fingers sliding over sweat dampened skin. There he found Alex hard, almost pulsing when he took him up in his hand, and it only took Jamie whispering for Alex to come for him to send Alex spiralling. Still his hips rocked back and he moaned for Jamie to keep going.

With a growl, Jamie flipped Alex back over and found him hot, open, ready. The smaller man sprawled languidly on the bed, arms reaching overhead as he let himself be moved to Jamie’s liking. When his thighs were spread and pushed back, his knees almost to his shoulders, Jamie sat back on his knees and found purpose to his movements. Alex laid back and watched, his eyes half open in a lust-drugged haze as he moved up the mattress with Jamie’s thrusts, each one faster and harder than the last. Alex’s breath sailed out of him with every snap of Jamie’s hips and then suddenly Jamie gathered Alex’s lower half off of the bed. Alex moaned, and nodded, and watched in fascination as Jamie came to a sharp end, arching his back and baring his teeth, gasping at the heat and the aching pleasure that erupted in every cell of his body. 

+

“You’ve been looking at me for the past ten minutes,” Jamie muttered groggily, his eyes closed against the early morning sun.

“It’s only fair,” Alex purred from where he was curled on his side, his gaze flitting over Jamie’s profile. “You’ve been looking at me almost everyday for the last four months. Keepin’ track o’me, yeah? Tryna figure me out.” He moved suddenly and climbed over Jamie, laying himself down along the older man’s body, folding his arms over Jamie’s chest and propping his chin there. “So, I’m just returning the favour, as it were.” 

“Think I haven’t noticed your gaze on me, love?” The endearment slipped off of Jamie’s tongue as easily has his kisses had, and the last scrap of rationality screamed in his brain, but he brushed it off as Alex dropped his head and gnawed at his collarbone with a growl. He dropped a hand to the dip at the base of Alex’s spine and revelled in the warm velvet of his skin.

Alex ignored the question, his face burning. So he hadn’t been a subtle as he’d thought he’d been, but he couldn’t seem to muster the strength to care. Instead he lifted his head and narrowed his gaze playfully as Jamie quirked an eyebrow. 

“When is your birthday?” Alex asked suddenly.

Jamie paused tracing his fingertips over Alex’s backbone. “What kind of question is that?”

Alex shrugged as best he could from where he was. “The kind of question one might ask a person they’ve just spent the better part of an evening getting acquainted with? At least physically. There’s more to you than just that handsome face, Cookie.” He tilted his head and pressed a soft kiss to Jamie’s chest, relishing the thrill that went up his spine as Jamie’s hands squeezed his hips at the mention of his nickname.. “Play along,” Alex ordered. “What did you say the other night? Nowt wrong with a bit o’normalcy.”

Jamie brushed the dark curls from Alex’s forehead with a small smile. “July eighth,” he murmured.

“We missed it then,” Alex pouted. “Went right by us; we were in-”

“Capri,” Jamie croaked, suddenly looking away. “Yeah, I know.”

There was a heaviness to Jamie’s voice that made Alex cock his head in contemplation. “What is it?”

Jamie shifted where he was pinned beneath Alex, and after a moment’s struggle he’d managed to displace the smaller man and sit up with a ragged sigh. He rubbed his eyes and then cradled his head in his hand as Alex rose up on his knees behind Jamie and laid a hand on one broad shoulder. “Jamie?”

“It’s nothing, it’s...it doesn’t matter.” He gulped and tried to force the tears back from his eyes.

“Clearly it does,” Alex pointed out softly. 

Looking at the ceiling Jamie blinked, and then let himself be embraced by Alex from behind. “We came here every now an’ then. To California, I mean. When I was working for Barat. Katie would be with us, obviously and...there’s this pub called Larry’s up on the Boardwalk, yeah?”

Alex nodded, chin pressed to Jamie’s shoulder. “Aye, I know it,” he replied. 

Without warning Jamie’s hand slipped over Alex’s where it rested on his shoulder and he drew his thumb over the back of it in small circles as he continued. “We’d go there. Me an’ Katie. Every chance we got, but always on me birthday. Three years runnin’. Haven’t been back here for a bit so...it’s been a while, I s’pose.”

A little flutter of something bloomed in Alex’s chest, and his veins, with every pass of Jamie’s thumb. It was a small gesture, but it meant the world to Alex: a casual touch between two lovers. “Well maybe next year, then? Hmm?” Alex suggested. “We’ll mark the calendar.” Jamie had to chuckle at that, and it turned into a deeper laugh, and a sigh, piquing Alex’s interest. “Wot?”

“They had this burger there...the Larry. Swear this thing were bigger than Katie’s head to begin wiv, but she had to go an’ add an egg and avocado every time. God, she ate like a horse, an she were a pixie by right.” By now Jamie’s voice had brightened with the fond memory, and it warmed Alex, who clung to Jamie’s shoulders, and his every word. “That, an’ sweet potato fries, and to finish it off this huge dish of sticky toffee puddin’. Don’t know where she put it all.”

“Definitely next year then. It’s a date.” Alex smiled and stole a quick kiss from Jamie’s lips when the blond turned to him with a startled expression.

The smile was still there on the blond’s face, but it was falling and Alex was about to inquire when his stomach rumbled audibly. Jamie seemed pulled from whatever thought he had slipped into and he focused on Alex. 

“That sounds like a cry for help,” Jamie chuckled.

Alex giggled and dropped a kiss to Jamie’s shoulder before sliding off the bed, despite Jamie’s attempts to grab him.

“I burned a lot of calories last night,” Alex shrugged, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he sauntered into the sitting area where his jeans were. “I’m sure you did, too?” Finding his jeans to be relatively dry he tugged them on and then turned back to Jamie’s chest of drawers to search for a t shirt.

“I could use some coffee,” Jamie admitted, fiddling with his phone for a second before lifting his watch from the bedside and clasping it about his wrist. 

The links of Alex’s chain caught his eye and he fumbled with the length of it for a second. Looking back to Alex he watched as the dark-haired man pulled a fresh white henley out of the drawer and then tugged it on. It was a bit big, and the neck gaped, showing off his collarbones, but Jamie didn’t think it ever looked quite that good on him. He stood and moved around Alex and found his own jeans.

When he’d pulled them on, he approached Alex and extended his hand outward, the necklace cupped in his palm. Alex turned from the mirror where he was fiddling with his hair and froze as he dropped his gaze to what Jamie was holding.

Suddenly, everything became far too real, and the soft, warm veneer that had settled over the pool house began to thin, and turn brittle.

Alex took a breath, and stared at the necklace in Jamie’s hand for a moment longer and then snatched it up in his fingers, and sank to the end of Jamie’s bed. He sighed, twisting the links over his knuckles, watching how the gleamed in the growing light, feeling the metal turn from cool to warm, and then cool once more. He hadn’t taken it off since Miles had looped it round his neck just before their departure to Capri. It had settled like a weight there, one that Alex hadn’t realized how heavy it had grown until he took it off. And it had come off without a moment’s hesitation, merely a small glance from Jamie. Alex looked up now and found Jamie watching him from the corner of his eye as he pretended to be busy with something on his dresser. Alex wove the length of the chain through his fingers and made a fist, pressing the metal to his lips. 

It had never meant to be just a simple adornment or an apology; Alex knew that now. It had been a way for Miles to mark him, to possess him, to say, You are mine, Alex, and you will obey, no matter how many times Miles had insisted it was a shared venture. 

For such a small thing, it demanded the impossible.

He’d tried. Alex had tried so hard to align himself to Miles’ pleasing, and for a while it had worked but...perhaps he’d known all along that Miles was walking a dangerous path, and Alex had tried so very hard to steer him differently. Alex had voiced his concerns, had tried to persuade Miles, had tried to keep him safe, from getting hurt in every way he could - 

It had all been for Miles’ preservation.

 _Where did it land Matthew?_ He asked himself bitterly as he gnawed the inside of his cheek.

_And where will it finally land you?_

Alex’s phone suddenly went off where it was stashed in his back pocket once more, and he froze.

 _Miles_. It _had_ to be Miles, who else would be calling him at this hour? Pulling the phone free from his pocket he checked the screen, found it came up with a _**caller unknown**_ id, and he swallowed thickly. Oh god, of course Miles would be calling; how could Alex possibly keep his voice from betraying him? His hand shook as he picked up the call, his eyes darting around the room - _Jamie’s_ room - taking in the overturned sheets, the empty whiskey glasses, the shirt he wore - Jamie’s shirt...a wave of nausea swept over him and he leaned forward on his knees with a shaky breath.

“Mi?” he answered softly, closing his eyes so that he couldn’t see Jamie.

Clarke’s voice came back, craggy and somber. “No, Alex. It’s John.”

The breath left Alex in an audible rush and he looked back up at Jamie suddenly. “John,” he repeated, for his benefit, and for Jamie’s, and Jamie turned his back and took a few paces toward the couch to give Alex a moment to speak.

“I wanted to convey my deepest sympathies, Alex,” Clarke began. “I’ve recently learned of Mr. Helders’ passing in Las Vegas. I understand you two were quite close.”

Alex grew cold, but he nodded. “Thank you, Sir,” he croaked out. “I... about Cameron, I-”

“From what I’ve been told, Alex, that was hardly your doing.”

“Sir?”

“It seems as though despite the turn of events that night, Mr. Michael was more than forthcoming with what went on. He’s loyal to you, something that will be a balm, I hope, during this time.”

Alex glanced up at the ceiling, blinking. “Oh, god, Zack,” he murmured. He’d all but forgotten him. “Is he-”

“I’ve sent him back up to Berkley for the time being. He’s closing something out that Mr. Avery had been working on before his untimely death.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Alex said solemnly. 

“While Mr. Michael’s whereabouts was among the reasons for me calling, it wasn’t the biggest. The events in Las Vegas yesterday afternoon have given me little choice in matters I’d wished to set in motion a bit more steadily. Mr Fogarino, and Mr Kane, however, have lit a fuse.”

“Sir, I know...I know Fogarino killed Matthew, Miles told me as much, and I can understand the...displeasure,” Alex paused and made a face, unsatisfied with the word. “But Miles has never been anything but loyal to you-”

“My reason for calling doesn’t directly concern Mr Kane, as it rarely does when I call you. There are things we need to discuss, Alex. Things we need to get in order. If I hope to have any shred of a business by this time next year, I need to move quickly. It’s imperative that we meet. As soon as possible.”

Another secret meeting with Clarke? Alex cleared his throat. “Mr. Clarke - John - the last time we met an’ I didn’t tell Miles...I mean that’s why...Cam-” Alex choked on the rest of the explanation and sighed. “Miles said he’d be back tonight-”

“Miles is being accompanied back to Los Angeles by Casablancas late tomorrow afternoon. There’s a few things that still need to be taken care of in Vegas. I’ll see to his comfort here when he arrives. I think you’re beyond Miles’ jurisdiction at this point.”

“I’m...I’m not...entirely sure...I…”

“Dinner. Here, at my home, tomorrow night. You, me, my lawyers, Mr. Cave, and a...selection of witnesses for the occasion.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m getting old, Alex, and I’m not able to keep tabs on everyone like I used to be able to. It’s time I made my plans for the future of this organization.”

Alex went silent.

“Did I lose you, lad? You are still interested in what we talked about only a week ago? Cameron, unfortunately, won’t be able to reap the benefits, but that means a larger cut for you.”

“I...don’t have me own lawyer, just the one that does Miles’ business.”

“Then I suggest you get yourself one. I’ll have documents couriered over tomorrow morning. And if everything is sound, by tomorrow night, Alex, you’ll be the sole beneficiary of everything.”

The call ended and Alex slowly set the phone beside him on the bed. “Clarke’s giving me everything, Jamie,” he muttered. “All of it.” He looked up, his face a mask of wonder. “When he dies, everything goes to me. It’s being set up. Tomorrow night. His place, seven pm.”

Jamie drew a sharp breath. “This is risky,” he started. “What about Miles-”

Alex glared at Jamie, his eyes flashing. “I know that. A man died because of me, Jamie; I know very well the risk involved with going against Miles’ wishes.” _I could be next_. He furrowed his brows. “Clarke said that there were things Miles needed to take care of in Vegas; that he’d be back tomorrow night. Surely Clarke must be laying things out for him - Miles has to know what’s happening.”

“ _Sole_ beneficiary, Alex,” Jamie reminded him. “Miles isn’t going to see any part of Clarke’s organization come to his control. You’re holding all the cards.”

“But why keep Miles in the dark? Why keep him from everything? I don’t want this, I don’t want to…”

“To be in control?”

“This is crazy, Jamie, I can’t - I mean, I don’t know anything about anything, I don’t even pick out me own clothes for chrissake! Clarke can’t possibly think I know how to do any of this.”

“Alex, shut up and listen to yourself for a moment. You’re the only one who’s doubting any of this.”

Alex’s head shot up. “Why are you so on board with this all of a sudden? A month ago you were cleaning my cuts in Capri and asking why don’t I just _leave_. And now you’re practically shoving me into Clarke’s lap.”

“If it gets you out from under Miles’ thumb,” Jamie snapped.

A strangled growl twisted in Alex’s throat and he clenched his teeth, dragging a hand back through his hair and drove his other fist into his thigh. His shoulders shook but it was not out of frailty.

Jamie’s mouth turned into a grim line. “You need to be calm right now. Ease up,” he continued, laying his hand over the fist Alex had dug into his leg.

Alex blinked, not realizing he’d been clutching the chain in that hand. He seemed almost surprised by it and stared at it as if wondering how it had gotten there. Then, his cheeks flushed as he remembered the warmth of Jamie’s touch at his collarbones.

From the moment Miles had fastened it around his neck he’d never taken it off, and now that it was gone, he hadn’t realized what a weight it had become, in every sense. It was Miles’ way of shutting him up, of keeping Alex happy, or so he seemed. Safe in Jamie’s embrace Alex hadn’t thought twice, and had been quick to remove the chain from around his neck, spurring them both into further action. He was reluctant to hinder himself again; the thought of putting it on now made him uneasy, and he felt Jamie’s eyes on him. He stood then and shoved the chain into the front pocket of his jeans with a jerk of finality.

Jamie watched as Alex pocketed the chain. “So what’s the plan?”

Alex let out a breath and felt a smile bubble. “I actually have no fucking idea.”

“Yeah, you do,” Jamie replied, moving to stand before Alex. “Tell me what you need from me.”

Alex twisted his fingers together and looked up from under his brows. “I’ve never been asked that before.”

“Well, it sounds like you better get used to it,” Jamie shrugged. “I’m at your disposal.”

“I want you with me tomorrow night,” Alex decided.

“Done,” Jamie agreed.

“Fab and Valensi, too.”

Jamie nodded. “I’ll talk to them. Anything else?”

“I need to find a lawyer,” Alex mumbled. “I don’t actually have one.”

“I’ll make a few calls.”

“Thank you,” Alex replied. “It’s still early,” he pointed out, taking a step towards Jamie. “There might be one more thing you could take care of.” He raised an eyebrow and placed his palms on Jamie’s chest.

Jamie took a breath and grinned. “What did you have in mind?”

+

“Definitely _not_ what I had in mind,” Jamie mumbled under his breath, standing in the acrylic paint section of _Raw Materials_ , mulling over paint names while he compared them to the list Alex had texted him.

Still, the task had bought him valuable time, and as soon as he’d pulled the car away from the mansion Jamie had called O’Malley, and filled him in with everything that had happened, and that they had an opening to make an arrest - several, if they played their cards right.

_“So I guess we’re not coming in guns blazing?” O’Malley had growled._

_“You sound disappointed,” Jamie had chuckled._

_“Only slightly. Okay, I’ll get Banhart on all outgoing calls from Clarke’s home over the last seventy-two hours, and all day today, as well. If he’s as flighty as reported, this is gonna be a big deal. No doubt he’ll get this catered. I doubt Cave can handle something of this magnitude.”_

_“I’ve never seen him make anything more than tea, but don’t underestimate him.”_

_“Right. I’ll assemble a decoy team, have them come in as the caterers so you’ll be covered. Who’s on the guest list?”_

_“Alex, obviously,” Jamie began, working his way through the morning traffic of surfers and joggers heading toward the beach as he made his way down to Gallery Row. “Alex’s lawyer, which I’ve volunteered to secure. Wanna help me out with that?”_

_“I’ll see what I can do,” O’Malley said._

_“Clarke, Cave, Clarke’s lawyer…” Jamie trailed off. “Not a lot of guys left to invite these days. Fab and Valensi will come with us.”_

_“Barat?”_

_“He is still in town. I’d count on it.”_

_O’Malley grunted, and then continued. “What do we know about Helders’ death?”_

_“Just what Cas relayed to Fab: Fogarino shot him as repayment for Avery’s death.”_

_“Jesus,” O’Malley huffed, “these guys are animals. Is Fogarino going to be there at Clarke’s?”_

_“I wasn’t given access to the guest list, Mal,” Jamie muttered, angling into a parking spot across from **Raw Materials**._

_O’Malley changed tactics. “How did Alex take Helders’ death?”_

_Jamie’s hand tightened on the phone. “How do you think?”_

_“Judging from the relationship those two had, at least according to your findings, I’d say he’s taking it pretty hard. How did he find out?”_

_“Miles called.”_

_“What else did they talk about?”_

_“I don’t know, it was a short conversation. He told Alex he’d be home tonight, but according to Clarke, he’s coming back tomorrow afternoon sometime.”_

_“And Cas?”_

_There was a shift in Jamie’s voice as he replied, “Clarke told Alex that Cas is coming in with Kane.”_

_O’Malley grunted at the hesitation in Jamie’s tone. He knew his partner well enough to know when he was processing something. “What are you thinking?”_

_“Kane is getting set up,” Jamie surmised. “Clarke is signing everything over to Alex, but I know Kane won’t take that lightly.”_

_O’Malley continued. “And Alex he hasn’t spoken with Miles since?”_

_“Not since he found out about Helders.”_

_“That was yesterday afternoon? You were with Alex then?”_

_“Am I on trial here, Mal? What’s with the third degree?”_

_“It’s called establishing a timeline, Cook. You’d do good to remember that you’re a fucking federal agent on an undercover assignment. Now, were you with Alex at that time?”_

_“Fuck. All right. Yes, I was,” Jamie sighed, turning the car off._

_On the other end, O’Malley swore sharply. “You’ve been with him the whole time?”_

_“More or less,” Jamie muttered._

_“So...where is he now? Sleeping it off?”_

_“I’m out of the house right now.”_

_O’Malley was silent for a moment. “Tell me he’s not got you running around doing errands.”_

_“Look, I needed an excuse to fill your ass in on this, all right?”_

_“Look, Jamie,” O’Malley sighed, his tone lowering. “I’m gonna ask you one more time, and I need you to be one hundred percent honest with me: are you sleeping with him?”_

_Jamie waited a beat before replying softly. “Yeah.”_

_“You have feelings for him?”_

_“How can I not?”_

_O’Malley heaved a defeated groan. “I **knew** we should have gone in weeks ago. That you were getting in too deep. You realize that this compromises your whole investigation? What jury is gonna sit there and listen to you try and put any of these guys behind bars when they find out you’re sleeping with one of them? Christ, you might as well hand in your badge, Jamie, and take up shop with them.”_

_“Mal-”_

_“Shut up, Cook. You have squandered any sort of reason you had left. You’ve been lying to me from the very beginning and now I’ve got to find some way to save our collective asses from getting suspended or worse. I knew Downe’s death fucked with you, man, but I didn’t think you’d actually be stupid enough to go down this road again.”_

_“It’s different this time,” Jamie argued lamely._

_“Are you hearing yourself right now?” O’Malley hissed. “Between the two of you there’s barely a shred of intelligence. You want to know what the **only** difference between Downes and Turner is? Downes got out easily. Turner’s going to end up in jail, and believe me, what Homme did to him is marginal compared to what general population will do to him.”_

_Jamie’s gut’s twisted sharply and he closed his eyes. “You said there might be a chance for a plea bargain. That he might not even go to trial.”_

_“You are playing a dangerous game, Jamie, and I don’t think I can let this go on. You’re so far in the shit you don’t even know when to keep your mouth shut. What happens if your cover is compromised? Think he’ll deal with **any** of us when he finds out you’ve played him from the beginning?”_

_“It’s not like that, I care about him.”_

_“Then quit while you’re ahead. Get out now. There’s no better time, Kane isn’t there to stop you-”_

_“I told Alex I’d be there with him tomorrow night,” Jamie interrupted._

_O’Malley made another noise of discontent. “I’m at the end of my tether, here, and I’ve a mind to extract both you and Turner tonight, and just break Clarke’s door down.”_

_“No,” Jamie snapped. “You do that, and you’ll blow my cover, and any chance I might have left to reason with Alex. Let me talk to him, put his thoughts on the right path. This is it, Mal, the one we’ve been working towards. We get Clarke, we get Kane, and anyone else that shows up. You work on getting our team in the door and in position,” Jamie growled, glancing up at the sign for **Raw Materials**. “I’ll handle Alex.”_

_O’Malley cursed again. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Thirty six hours, Cook.”_

“Sir? Is there something I can help you find?”

Jamie blinked at the tube of paint in his grasp as the echoes of O’Malley’s last words dissolved in his ears. He glanced up at the clerk and nodded. “Yeah. My…um…I’m running an errand for someone.” He turned the phone around and showed the list to the clerk. “And this would probably go a lot faster with your help. Thank you.”

The clerk nodded and began grabbing tubes of paint before leading Jamie down the section where the brushes were. When everything on the list had been found, Jamie paid for his purchase and headed back out to the car, sending a quick text to Alex to let him know he was on his way back.

By the time he was pulling back up the drive he’d received another message from O’Malley, and when he’d parked the car he took a moment to look it over:

_**I’m sending Chung in as Alex’s attorney. She’ll be there tomorrow morning at ten am.** _

Jamie reviewed the message over twice, making sure he’d read correctly: Alexa Chung was the undercover unit’s decoy jack of all trades. She could fake it all - doctor, lawyer, fashion mogul, escort - and make it flawless. With an eidetic memory and a knack for numbers and technology, she was a valuable player among the DEA’s contract civilians. No one quite knew what she did when she wasn’t in the field, but there was a pool going among the other operatives and agents - most people had put money on her being an actual attorney, and a criminal case one at that. She was vicious, calculating, and took zero bullshit. Jamie didn’t get along with her at all, and he hoped that wouldn’t be the case for Alex. O’Malley was sending her for reason, one that Jamie wasn’t quite sure was one hundred percent focused on Alex. It didn't much matter, however; there wasn’t time to be picky.

Grabbing the bag of art supplies, Jamie dropped his phone into his jacket pocket and exited the car port, entering the house and making his way towards the noise coming from upstairs. He found the door to Alex’s room thrown open, music playing heavily, and Alex in front of the canvas, still clad in Jamie’s shirt, though now it wore streaks of burnt orange and raw umber. He’ d discarded his jeans and stood in his boxer briefs, scowling at the canvas.

Jamie raised a hand and knocked on the door frame. “Got your order here.”

Alex looked up and grinned broadly, already crossing the carpet and waving Jamie inside. “C’mere, come look at this,” he gushed, taking the bag from Jamie’s hand and tossing it onto the table before linking his fingers with Jamie’s. He tugged Jamie further into the room and made him stand in front of the canvas. “What do you think?”

Jamie contemplated the painting, tilting his head left, and then right. “I think I don’t know what it is.”

“You don’t…” Alex looked from the canvas to Jamie and found Jamie’s expression at a loss. “It’s - it’s…” Alex sputtered, flinging his hand toward the painting. “That’s the alley. In Sicily. You know, the one-“

“Yeah,” Jamie replied with a hasty nod. “Yeah, I remember.” He watched Alex swing his dark gaze back to the painting.

“It’s not that great, actually,” Alex murmured, wrinkling his nose. “The stones were more grey, maybe, I dunno…” He shrugged and made to move it off the easel when Jamie stopped him.

“No, I see it now. Um…there was a wall hanging here of some sort,” Jamie went on, gesturing to the left side of the alley. “I think it were red.”

“You _do_ remember,” Alex murmured, looking back over his shoulder at the blond.

“I told you I did,” Jamie replied.

“What else do you remember?”

“The beer,” Jamie began, shrugging when Alex glared at him. “What? It was a good beer.”

“It _was_ a good beer,” Alex conceded.

“You ordered in Italian. Told me about your art teacher.”

“You told me about your footie days,” Alex continued, turning back to the canvas and lifting it down. He chose a blank one, this one oblong in shape, and set it up on the easel. “What else?”

“It were morning. The sun was hot. I tailed you through the market…” he trailed off as Alex held out a brush to him. “What is that?”

“It’s a paintbrush,” Alex said with a roll of his eyes.

“You don’t actually expect me to paint, do you?”

“You might like it,” Alex shrugged, waiting for Jamie to take the brush. When he didn’t move, Alex heaved a loud sigh and moved behind Jamie, placed his hands on Jamie’s biceps, and steered him toward the canvas. “It won’t bite, I promise. I, on the other hand,” he continued, his voice dropping as he raised up on his tiptoes, mouth hovering at Jamie’s ear, “keep no such promises myself.” He darted in and nipped Jamie’s ear, drawing back with a giggle as Jamie jumped. “Now, then,” he began, clearing his throat and moving away from Jamie. “All of those things you just described…that’s what made that beer exceptionally good. That’s what made it memorable. So paint me that beer.”

“Alex,” Jamie sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t-“

“Have you ever tried?”

“No, but, we need to talk.“

Alex shrugged and gestured to the canvas once more. “I can do two things at once, surprisingly enough. You paint. I’ll teach. An’ we’ll talk.”

+

The hour was creeping on midnight now, and it found Jamie naked, sprawled and sleeping in the middle of Alex’s bed. They’d spent most of the morning painting, and talking, and flirting, and had forgone lunch for sharing the shower when they found themselves covered with paint. That had turned into another round, before they fell into bed, sleeping the afternoon away. Dinner was scavenged from the fridge, the knowing glances from Fab and Valensi ignored by both Alex and Jamie, and soon enough they’d retreated to Alex’s room once more to forget everything but themselves.

Alex stood at his window, looking out onto the ocean where it rolled and crashed into the shore. What _could_ he tell Miles? That he was the one who was going to takeover Clarke’s empire? Not by force but by inheritance, and what a laugh Miles would have at that. He wished Matthew was still around. At that thought, his throat ached, and he wiped at his eyes. Matthew always knew what to say, what to do, how to do it.

Jamie turned onto his back and watched Alex as he lingered at the window. He could spend a lifetime doing this, he decided, watching Alex lost in his thoughts, and the idea of it sat heavily in Jamie’s chest. He wasn’t thinking like a federal agent anymore; he’d gotten his heart involved, more so than he had with Katie. When he’d first arrived at Kane's, the wound from where she had been cut out of his life was still raw. Thought it stung when Alex unknowingly dug in, the emptiness in Jamie’s life had healed over, or at least been filled by the dark-eyed man propped in the window frame. He hadn’t even known until that morning, but there he’d been, hands and heart full of Alex.

He’d been right about one thing: this wasn’t going to end well. Even if they did get Alex to cooperate and sign a plea bargain, the fact remained that Jamie had been lying to Alex from the beginning. It wouldn’t have made a difference if he’d done it by the book, if he’d followed his own rules, and O’Malley’s urging. John Cooper-Clarke’s empire was about to implode, and Alex, Kane, and Jamie were at the epicentre. The fallout would no doubt be astronomical.

Strong arms slipped about his waist and Alex drew a startled breath. He hadn’t heard Jamie move from the bed, but he relaxed into the embrace immediately. He hadn’t known it long, but he’d know it anywhere, and he laid his hand on Jamie’s forearm and tilted his head as the blond came to rest his chin on Alex’s shoulder.

“Could you give it all up?” Jamie asked softly. Alex turned his head and caught Jamie’s gaze, and Jamie elaborated. “All of this, and Clarke’s offer, too, I mean? Just leave it all behind and skip the country?”

Alex shook his head with a sad chuckle. “God, if it were that easy.” He looked back to the ocean.

Jamie tightened his hold on Alex. “Pack a bag. Get your passport. We’ll decide when we get to the airport where we’re going.”

“Don’t play,” Alex pouted, looking away sharply shrugging out of Jamie’s stubborn grasp. “You know I can’t leave, not like that. He’d find me. We both know that.”

Jamie nodded silently. He hoped that Alex knew the offer to be genuine, as well as everything else he’d expressed. When necessary, Jamie could play the role of disgruntled bodyguard to a drug kingpin to perfection, but his real emotions ruled him, and Alex had a knack for bringing them to the fore with very little ease.

Alex was speaking again. “He’d come looking for me, no matter how long it took, he’d find me and he’d…” he stopped, and swallowed thickly. “God he’d probably kill me.” He drew his fingertips along the windowsill. “As it stands, I’m probably dead already. When he finds out…” Alex trailed off and turned and looked at Jamie. “Being loved by Miles is a powerful thing, Jameh. It’s not something I can just walk away from. I’d be lucky if he let me crawl.”

“You don’t think Clarke will protect you?” Jamie rushed in, moving towards Alex. “He knows you’re ready to take over for him, when the time comes, at least. He wouldn’t let you sign on without plans of his own to keep you as safe as possible.”

Alex nodded, still frowning. “But Miles will be there. Tomorrow night, he’ll be there, and I don’t think I have the strength to do something like this - betraying him like this, especially with him standing right there.”

“And letting me in your bed wasn’t a betrayal?” Jamie asked. He shook his head as Alex gulped. “I won’t let it happen.”

“You told me more than once that you couldn’t protect me,” Alex reminded him. “What changed?”

Jamie squeezed his eyes shut and he closed the space between them, his hands spanning that narrow waist as he dropped his forehead to Alex’s. “Don’t ask me that,” he begged. “You know how things are different now.”

“Because we fucked?”

“Because you’re not the same man he picked up three years ago, Alex,” Jamie said sharply. “And yes, because we fucked, but don’t you see? That was your choice, too, you had to take that, and you did, over and over because it was what you wanted.” He opened his eyes and cupped Alex’s face firmly. “Look at me, please, Alex.” He waited and Alex obeyed, blinking those large, dark eyes up at him. “You’re _not_ the same man you were when you met him, you’ve said it yourself. The only one crawling at the end of this will be him. After all he’s put you through, after all the damage he’s done, I’d say he’s getting off easily.”

Alex let his gaze waver, and he nodded weakly. “I suppose you’re right-“

“God dammit, Alex, you _know_ I’m right.”

Alex gulped, and drew a sharp, shaking breath. The scary thing was that he did know. Deep down, he’d already left Miles - the last eighteen hours with Jamie was proof enough of that. And now his opportunity to sever ties was in sight.

He only hoped he lasted long enough to reach out and take it.

+


	17. Chapter 17

The next morning found Jamie hovering in the kitchen near the patio doors, glancing out to where Alex was speaking with what he assumed to be his lawyer, Alexa Chung. Jamie had to admit that she played the role immaculately, showing up promptly at ten am, dressed in a flawless pantsuit, her makeup understated, but perfect. She hadn’t even bothered to glance in his direction - she embodied a lawyer who was supposed to be well versed in less than legal activities, and wasn’t going to pay much attention to the muscle. 

She’d come prepared and wanted to get right down to business, declining Alex’s offer of breakfast, but accepting a cup of coffee that she’d barely touched. It stood on the table with a smudge of lipstick on the rim from her perfunctory sip, but after that she’d pulled open a large leather portfolio that held copies of the contract that had been faxed over to her. She’d flagged areas to discuss in detail, and now she and Alex had their dark heads bent together as she drew a manicured fingertip down the margin and looked up at Alex. In turn, Alex murmured something, and suddenly both of them burst out laughing before he nodded and listened as she continued.

Almost an hour later, Alexa adjourned their meeting, standing from the small table as Alex joined her. Together they entered the kitchen, and found Jamie waiting for them there.

Alex’s smile grew immediately. “Ms. Chung, you know Jamie, don’t you?”

Alexa settled her blue-green gaze on Jamie and tilted her head, while Jamie watched her formulate a neutral response. “We’ve never been formally introduced,” she began, “but we have crossed paths on a few occasions. You were the one to contact my offices, were you not?”

Jamie nodded briefly. “I was, yes.” 

“And your relationship with Mr. Turner is…?” she trailed off, arching a sculpted brow.

“Head of his security team,” Jamie smartly replied.

“Ah.” Alexa smiled wanly. “Then you’ll no doubt be joining us this evening?”

Jamie nodded and was about to reply when Alex’s phone went off. He glanced at the screen, and then to Jamie and Alexa. “It’s Clarke. I’m going to have to take this.”

“Of course, Mr. Turner. I’ll see you this evening.”

“I’ll show you out,” Jamie murmured, already ushering Alexa out of the kitchen as Alex picked up Clarke’s call.

They were approaching the front entry when Jamie wrapped a hand around her elbow and pulled her to a stop. “Tell me about the contract.”

Alexa expertly worked herself from Jamie’s grip as she glared at him, and then took a breath. “It’s airtight. Clarke’s attorneys have thought of everything. It’s a completely legitimate signing over of Clarke’s estate, all perfectly legal. If this were another universe, Alex would probably be more powerful than John Cooper Clarke.”

“Do you think he could do it?”

“Excuse me?”

Jamie shrugged, trying to keep his tone casual. He wanted an outside opinion, and he was genuinely curious of Alexa’s findings. “Could he do it? If this were a different universe, would he be able to handle what’s on the horizon?”

Alexa shook her head, sun glinting off the golden streaks around her face. “I’m here in the capacity of an attorney, Mr. Cook. If it’s a personality evaluation you require, might I suggest finding a human resources officer?”

He sighed. “Just answer the fucking question.”

“Fine,” Alexa snapped. “Yes. He could do it. He’s far more crafty than he lets on to be. He’s smart. He’s mysterious. He’s loyal. He knows what he wants.” She shrugged. “It’s a shame, really.” She paused here and looked Jamie up and down. “I get the feeling that it’s more than Clarke’s empire he wants. But reality, and Mal’s team, will come crashing through the windows soon enough.”

Jamie glanced away with a frown. “I was hoping to avoid theatrics.” He smiled wanly when he caught Alexa’s eye again.

She gave Jamie a pointed look. “Not likely to happen. I understand that Kane is going to be there, as well as Clarke, and a handful of others that your team would love to get their hands on.”

Jamie grunted with a nod. “You’re ready, then? For whatever might happen tonight?”

Alexa laughed, a melodic sound that made Jamie shiver. “Darling, I live for this sort of thing.”

With another nod, Jamie followed Alexa out of the house and down to where her Tesla was parked. He reached for the driver’s side door and opened it for her, watching as she settled into the seat before slipping her sunglasses on. 

“I’m on my way to meet Mal and go over the contract once more. I can’t keep the authorities from laying several charges on Alex, regardless of his holdings. He’ll be convicted, if not for Avery’s death, then as an accessory. But whatever sentence he serves, if those papers are signed before your team moves, whenever Clarke dies, Alex is going to be one very rich, powerful young man.” She slid the key into the ignition, and the engine roared to life.

Jamie stepped back as she closed the door, and then waited until she’d rolled her window down. “As his legal council you know you can make this go either way.”

For the first time since she’d arrived, Alexa’s stoic veneer showed a hairline fracture, and her hands flexed where they were wrapped around the steering wheel. “You have a point.”

“So how are you going to play it?”

“To the best of my ability, Cook,” Alexa shrugged. “I can’t force him to sign at a certain moment, but I can delay it.” Sliding her sunglasses down she eyed Jamie over the tops of them. “Why are you so eager in the outcome? You want Clarke, and you get to take Kane with him. Turner is just collateral damage.”

“He’s more than that,” Jamie argued. “He’s been with Kane for almost five years now, and he’s been in close quarters with the likes of Carl Barat. He’s valuable, and anything to keep him from ending up behind bars, has to be done. Can you talk to the DA? Get a plea bargain?”

Alexa let out a breath and adjusted her glasses. “I can’t promise anything at this point, Cook. I’ll see you here at six.” She smiled again, a brilliant display of straight, white teeth, and then she pulled away and headed down the drive to the gates.

+

“Did Alexa get away all right? I’m disappointed I couldn’t see her off myself,” Alex said as Jamie reappeared in the kitchen.

Jamie nodded. “She did.”

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Alex went on. “I like her. I trust her.” He smiled. “Hell, if I were straight…” He trailed off as his cheeks flushed.

“If you were straight, what?” Jamie teased, raising an eyebrow.

Alex sputtered, and then shrugged. “I mean, she’s gorgeous. Incredibly intelligent. Knows what she wants, and how to get it.”

“She is definitely all of that,” Jamie agreed, recalling that Alexa had more or less said the same things about Alex. In another universe… Jamie ruefully shook the thought from his head and focused on Alex once more.

Alex blew out a sigh and ruffled a hand over his hair. “I prefer blonds, anyway,” he said, glancing up at Jamie before crossing the tiles to stand before him. He reached for Jamie’s hand and pressed up on his tiptoes, brushing his mouth against Jamie’s chin.

Jamie angled his head away. Immediately he regretted the move as hurt flared in Alex’s eyes.

“You’ve got that look in your eye again,” Alex said a moment later. “That intensity. It wasn’t there the other night, or the morning after.”

“I’m focused on this evening.” He squeezed Alex’s hand and pulled him closer so he could lower his voice. “You should be, too.” His other hand gently cupped the side of Alex’s neck.

Alex couldn’t help but press into Jamie’s touch, and he raised his hand to cover Jamie’s. “Well, maybe I’m focused more on the part that will happen once we get home?” His tone was hopeful and he raised his eyebrows.

Jamie chuckled, but it was half-hearted. It was true; Jamie was focused on that evening, but there were elements in play that he couldn’t begin to explain to Alex. Instead, he used the one thing he knew Alex would understand.

“Kane is going to be there. And you have to have your head in the game. This is it.”

Frowning, Alex took a step back, but he nodded. “I know,” he muttered. “You’re right. I know.”

“The call from Clarke went all right?” Jamie ventured.

“Yes, he just wanted to ensure I’d had time to look over the contract with a lawyer.” Alex eyed Jamie pensively. “Where exactly did you find her, anyway?”

Jamie grinned. “A friend owed me a favour,” he said. It wasn’t a total lie; even though he hadn’t asked Mal specifically for Chung, he’d delivered the best. He doubted, of course, that it was done in Alex’s best interest.

“Be sure to thank them for me, then?” Alex asked.

Jamie nodded, but said nothing.

+

“Wake up, sunshine.”

I snorted and surged upright, groaning at the sharp pain that suddenly flared in my neck and shoulders. Almost immediately I tensed as I realized my hands were bound behind me. At some point during the long night I’d drifted off, and Cas had seized the moment. Wincing, I noticed Cas standing at the foot of the bed, and he tossed my bag onto the mattress.

“We’re checking out. Pack your shit. Thomson will be here within the hour to take us to the airport.” 

He sounded so smug, thinking he was the one calling the shots. What he failed to realize was that while I still drew breath, I wasn’t gonna roll belly up so easily. I eyed him sharply. “Gonna have to untie me, mate,” I growled before I swung myself upright and sat on the edge of the bed.

Cas paused and rolled my request around for a moment, before he slipped a hand into his back pocket and produced a switchblade. He clicked it open and gave me a pointed look.

I rolled my eyes. “Look, I’ve lost feeling in most of me fingers. The only thing I want right now is a cigarette.”

“Right,” Cas snorted. He fished a cigarette from his own pack and placed it between my lips, and lit it. “You can do that without your hands. I’m not Valensi, or Fab, or Ford. I’ve been watching you Kane, even before we got sent here.”

I worked the burning cigarette to the corner of my mouth and took a quick drag, exhaling the smoke as best I could, trying to determine Cas’ angle. “You’re all in on this, then? Fab and Valensi wouldn’t dare scratch their arses without you giving the order.” I narrowed my gaze as Cas shrugged. “And Cook?”

“Cook is his own man,” Cas replied. “Has his own agenda.” He lit a cigarette for himself and smoked it for a moment while he looked down at me. “After what happened in Capri three years ago I can’t say I’m surprised by the turn of events that have taken place.”

It took everything I had to keep my cool at his tone, and settled for taking a deep drag from my cigarette. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked breezily after I’d exhaled.

Cas grinned and pointed at me with his cigarette. “Jesus, and here I thought Alex was the one who was fucking clueless about everything. But then again, you’re the type of man who isn’t used to competition. Who isn’t used to not being the only rooster in the henhouse. You wanna know what Cookie has been up to since he first laid eyes on Alex? Any man with half a brain would see it, Kane.”

Pulling a chair out from the small table next to the window, Cas took a seat and set the switchblade down. “By the look on your face I’d say you’d like to rip of my head and shit down my neck. Maybe you _do_ know what I’m talking about after all.”

I sneered as best I could. “Enlighten me,” I said.

He leaned back, blowing a few smoke rings before he started speaking again. 

“You been in the game as long as us, you start to notice things. Patterns. Guys like Barat, like Homme, like _you_ start to get sloppy. You think you’re gaining ground but things start slipping through the cracks. Your home, your family, your loved ones - if you can every really love, that is - they all become collateral damage, things lost in the fire. One day you wake up and you realize it’s just you and your money and your drugs in your cold, empty castle, while guys like Cook, the white knights? They’re just waiting to make their move.”

I clamped my lips around the cigarette, recalling what he’d told me on the day we’d met. “And you? How do you fit into all of this?”

“Me?” Cas shrugged and ashed his cigarette directly onto the carpet. “I’m just a mercenary for the king. And I’m bringing you in for my share of the reward.”

“No wonder Barat likes you so much. A charmer _and_ a liar,” I snorted.

“They tend to go hand-in-hand,” Cas replied with a casual shrug. “Don’t act like you’re surprised by this. You must have seen it coming.”

Grunting, I staggered to my feet, watching as Cas sat a bit straighter as I did so. Even when I had my hands bound, Cas was still wary of me. Playing up the stiffness in my joints, I shuffled to window. “So, what now?” I shouldered aside the curtains and looked out on the strip baking in the mid-morning sun. “You’re just gonna drop me at Clarke’s feet an’ that’s that?” 

“For my part, yeah, that’s that. I give you to Clarke, and I go back to France with Barat.”

I turned at the mention of Barat and gave Cas a rueful smile. “Right.” I took another drag of my cigarette and let the smoke curl out of my mouth as I exhaled. “I gotta tell you, Cas, I’m disappointed by this turn of events, but you’re right. I should have seen this coming.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Kane,” Cas grinned. “It’s not all bad. I hear Cook treats Turner real nice.”

I felt my facade falter, and Cas saw the twitch in my jaw. At my back, my fingers began to twist desperately, trying to find a way to slip my bonds and then snap his neck, just to keep him from talking.

“Do you actually think I’m going to believe anything you say at this point?” I asked. My jaw clenched. “Alex is a lot of things,” I said, “but he’s not the cheating type. Not my Alex. Not on me.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be swayed by words, so, here. Valensi has been keeping a close eye on things down in LA.” He fished into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and unlocked it. “See for yourself.”

He set the device down on the table and I stood over it, glaring down at the screen. The trembling in my veins turned to shaking, and I bit my tongue against the growl that threatened to tear out of my lungs at that moment. There, in perfectly pixelated detail, was an image of Alex seated on the edge of the bed in the poolhouse, Cook’s quarters, and Cook curled up behind him, a guitar in Alex’s lap.

I remembered the room at Barat’s villa, but I barely recognized the smile on Alex’s face. He hadn’t looked at me like that in months. My stomach turned sour.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you who bought that guitar for Cook, do I?” Cas’ hand hovered over the screen and he swiped to the next picture, this one zoomed in, the guitar on Alex’s lap clearly forgotten, and Jamie’s gaze trained on Alex’s face.

“Yeah, Cook sure likes those pretty ones, eh? Girls, boys, doesn’t really matter for him.” Cas swiped again, and Jamie’s profile eclipsed Alex’s in what I knew was kiss. Cas went on. “As long as they need saving. And he did, you know? You did a number on that boy, Kane. I’m not even that big of an asshole.” Cas shook his head and heaved a dramatic sigh. “I mean, it’s kinda been like watching a soap opera unfold around here. You practically shoved that kid into Jamie’s arms.” Once more he swiped, and the picture was clear as day: Alex on his back, and Jamie climbing all over him. “Guess what he was doin’ while Helders was bleeding out on Fogarino’s carpet?” Cas mocked in a whisper..

When I looked back into Cas’ eyes the smug look of satisfaction he wore made my ears ring and my blood boil. I did the only thing I could at that moment:

I spat my burning cigarette into Cas’ face.

Cas reacted exactly as I’d hoped: in a flurry of flailing limbs, his hands coming to his eyes as he fought to dislodge the thing searing his skin. In the next breath I was on him, vaulting against Cas’ body where it sat in the chair and toppling them both over. I was determined to shut his mouth permanently, and the anger bubbled in my veins, my fingers aching with my pulse and my shoulders bunching. We were nose to nose, and Cas grunted and struggled. This was my chance. I swung my head down and cracked Cas between the eyes in a vicious headbutt. Cas was stunned, and my own vision blurred, a result of the blow Fogarino had dealt, but the adrenaline was thick and coursing now, and I was unstoppable. As Cas fought to regain control of the situation, I lunged and did the only thing I could with my hands bound. My teeth tore into Cas’ cheek, drawing blood and making Cas howl and buck.

I pulled back with a piece of flesh in my teeth, and I spat it down on Cas’ wild-eyed face. Before Cas could scream again, I rolled off of him, staggered to my feet, and then sent the toe of my St Laurent boot into Cas’ gut. I delivered another swift blow to his ribs, his face, and then finally the groin sending the man into a stiff arch of shock, before he curled on his side with a haggard groan. My breath sailed in and out of my lungs raggedly, and my ears were ringing with the effort, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I wouldn’t, not until he was dead, along with every man who had ever thought they could bring me down. In the next breath I was on Cas again, this time driving my knee down into Cas’ throat, exerting pressure as I shifted my weight, watching as those brown eyes bulged. I felt Cas’ clutching at my shirt, clawing at my belt, my slacks, anything to try and dislodge me. I didn’t budge, and merely growled and pressed down harder on Cas’ throat.

Curving my spine, I leaned down, my spit and Cas’ blood hanging from my lips as I shook with rage. “Who’s laughing now, you fucking cunt?” I spat. I bared my teeth with a grunt and shifted once more, feeling excited triumph flood my veins with the wet crunch of Cas’ windpipe being crushed.

Cas writhed, his long legs kicking out as the air was squeezed from his body. His face turned red, and then blue, and the whites of his eyes showed as his spit foamed at the corners of his mouth, blood tinging it pink. There was a wheeze, and sigh, and then one final _crack_ that I felt right in the finer of my being. The last spasms of Cas’ life ran through his fingers, shuddering in his torso, until at last he lay still.

Only then did I take a moment to breathe, and the air was thick and charged with what had just taken place in a manner of seconds. Easing up from Cas’ throat I sank back on my haunches, shivering as I waited for the adrenaline to dump and leave my system.

It didn’t.

That’s when I remembered two things: my hands were still bound, and Thomson would be there shortly.

The switchblade on the table caught my eye, where it sat next to Cas’ phone. Pushing to my feet, I edged toward the table and turned, leaning back at an awkward angle until my fingers brushed the handle of the blade and managed to pick it up from the glass tabletop. My fingers felt dull and useless; a bit of fumbling confirmed that a zip tie had been used to bound my hands, and the edges dug into veins and tendons. I had to get them off, or risk losing the function of my hands completely. There was still so much to do.

I turned and swept my gaze over the table, and caught a final glimpse of Alex in Cook’s embrace before the screen timed out and went black. It was the push I needed. Straining my wrists to an almost impossible angle, I set the blade under the zip tie between my thumbs and yanked it, exerting what pressure I could, while maintaining a hold on the grip. Numb and sweating, I feared dropping the blade, and my gaze stared out onto the strip again, watching as the angle of the sun changed. Alex’s voice came back to me once more.

_“...we need to talk, Mi. About this. About us.”_

I huffed and flicked the knife harder. Then, my own words to Cook came back to haunt me:

_“Alex is staying here. Under your watch.”_

Cas’ smug tone taunted me.

_“You practically shoved that kid into Jamie’s arms.”_

I gave another vicious yank, flinching as I felt the tip of the blade nick my palm. My fingers were slick, with sweat, or blood, or maybe both. My shoulders burned where they were twisted and bunched, and my forearms began to go numb with the angle. But I couldn’t give up. Cas’ phone began to vibrate, and I watched the screen come to life with Thomson’s name. I gave another ragged slice, growling my frustration, and sagged as the tether finally snapped. I gasped, sliding to my knees next to Cas’ body, and took a breath to calm myself. Then I picked up the call.

“Yeah,” I droned, putting on my best laconic Cas impression.

“It’s Thomson. You two ready?”

“Kane’s giving me grief,” I murmured, flexing my wrists and wincing silently as the blood flowed into the fingers in a rush of tingling agony.

“Do I need to come up there?”

“Yeah, you can carry my fuckin’ bag,” I laughed.

“Go fuck yourself, Casablancas. I’ll be right up.”

“I’ll be waiting.” I ended the call and stood, working my fingers into order before I moved to where Helders had stashed the weapons we hadn’t been armed with when we met with Fogarino. 

I slid the mirrored door on the wardrobe open and lifted the bottom panel that Helders had loosened. It was empty, and I quickly spun to my feet and began searching for anywhere Cas may have hid the missing weapons. When I came up with nothing, I realized that my prized piece, the blue custom SIG, was missing, too. Cursing sharply, I glanced at Cas’ lifeless form on the floor, and then to the switchblade I’d used to cut my bonds. Thomson would be there in seconds. I had to move quickly.

+

It was hard for Alex to know what to do with himself. He still had a little over five hours before he was expected at Clarke’s, and he couldn’t just sit and agonize over it the entire time. He’d drive himself mad. While his meeting with Alexa had eased his earlier trepidations regarding just what exactly his taking over entailed - he wouldn’t be responsible for anything until Clarke died, or agreed to hand things over in the event when he could no longer function mentally - there was a strange energy in the house. 

Every time he’d left his own room, he’d glanced up the hall to the room he’d shared with Miles for years before, and for the last few weeks. He hadn’t been in there since Miles had left for Vegas; since Helders had-

Alex winced at the unfinished thought and craned his neck from where he stood at the landing, until he focused on the door to the shared bedroom. He’d have to go in there eventually; any clothes deemed suitable to wear to dinner that evening were stashed in the massive closet in there. With some time to himself, as Jamie had disappeared somewhere with Fab and Valensi to discuss strategy in the event it was needed, Alex forced himself to tackle the staircase. At the top he pushed right, into the wing he shared with Miles.

Opening the door, he inhaled the scent of stale cigarettes and faded cologne - Miles’ scent. There was a faded quality to the light, and dust motes danced in the beams that came through the slatted blinds. There, scattered over the tops of the dressers and the armoire, were the remains of a life once very real. Cufflinks and watches, expensive sunglasses, heavy crystal ashtrays with the butts still in them, stray vials of cocaine, empty or half full, littered almost every available flat surface. On one wall, a broken mirror, another cracked plaster, and on the lip of the tallboy next to the window a chipped finish. Things that Miles had once taken so much pride in were now showing their wear. Alex glanced to his left, to the wall next to the door, and the echo of an ache bloomed in the back of his skull.

This wasn’t a bedroom anymore. It was a mausoleum, a place of remembrance of his past life, a place where he’d buried himself under a suffocating blanket of fear.

He took a breath and made himself step inside. The bed was unmade from the last time Miles had slept there, and the doors to the wardrobe were still open, Miles’ suits pushed back where they hung on the rod. He’d packed quickly, left even quicker, and now he was coming back to the worst possible betrayal.

A shuddering breath left Alex and he perched on his side of the mattress, fingers twisting the expensive sheets. Had it really only been two days ago that everything had seemed so… so real? Now, he’d slept with Jamie, he’d plotted and planned with Clarke to take over the business, and Helders was dead. He allowed himself to be consumed by the thoughts for a moment.

Eventually he made his way to the wardrobe, pausing again to look over the line of Miles’ suits, the expensive cuts, the cashmere and silk and linen. His shoes were lined up in precise order, first by wear, then by colour. Alex’s clothing was arranged much the same way, though not by choice. He’d been quick to change his ways within the first month of living with Miles.

Among his various soft-coloured suits, crisp white shirts, and pressed slacks, Alex found the garment bags from the outing he’d taken with Miles. He unzipped them one by one, finding the charcoal suit, the navy dinner jacket, tweed trousers, snug black slacks, until he finally found what we was looking for. Plucking the hangers from the rod, he snagged a pair of black boots, and turned to head back out of the bedroom.

He didn’t get very far, and once again was lured by the trinkets on the dressers, and he fished through them, intent on finding the antique Omega watch Miles had given him when he stopped dead. The clothes in his hands suddenly felt like they weighed a ton. All of it did, really. The room, the house, the cars, the jewelry, the clothes, were all bought with Miles’ money, and were all tokens of Miles’ affection, all some form of him apologizing for some transgression. No matter how many time Miles said sorry, the gifts kept coming, for repeat offences in some cases. Alex’s shoulders rounded and he let out a sigh.

A soft knock sounded on the door frame, and Alex whipped around to see Jamie standing there.

“Found you.”

Alex shrugged. “I weren’t hiding.”

“Wallowing?” Jamie ventured.

Alex pouted as he sought the right word. “Mourning.” He looked around the room and the things he held in his hands. “I can’t stay here, Jamie.”

“You can get ready in the poolhouse,” he offered.

“No, I mean, I can’t stay here when it’s over. This house...the clothes and the cars and...everything, Jamie, do you understand?”

Jamie nodded gently. “I do.”

“I don’t even want to wear anything he got me but it’s not like I can run out on a shopping spree this afternoon.”

“Wanna borrow a shirt?”

Alex giggled. “You’re a bit broader in the chest than me, mate.”

“You can always show up in nowt but your boxers. Element of surprise an’ all.”

“What, and have you distracted all night?” Alex shook his head again. “I’ll make do.” He lifted the garment bag. “But I might take you up on the offer of getting ready in yours.”

Jamie nodded, and an easy silence settled over them. A few seconds later, Alex nodded toward the door. “I think I’ll-”

“Yeah,” Jamie hastily replied, moving aside. He followed Alex until they were at the head of the staircase.

Alex seemed poised to move to his private room and he looked back at Jamie from over his shoulder. “I’m gonna...I dunno, paint for a bit, I s’pose. Not like there’s much else to do but wait.”

“Do you want some company?”

Alex worried his bottom lip for a spell and looked at the door to his room, and then back to Jamie.

“What is it?”

“Everything just suddenly seems entirely too real. Like...like I’m holding on too tightly or summat. Things are gonna start slipping through the cracks. Or I’m gonna wake up and this is all going to be a dream. Or a nightmare.” He stopped and frowned. “I guess it depends on how you look at it. On when you came into the theater.”

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” Jamie soothed. “You’ve got this. You can handle this. You’ve weathered so much worse than this, Alex, and you’re more than the sum of your trials. Just remember what you want.”

“I want _you_ ,” Alex said decisively.

Jamie nodded, and swallowed thickly. “I want you, too. I want _us_. Alex, listen to me, okay?” He stepped closer and watched as Alex nodded and looked up at him with those large dark eyes. “Whatever happens tonight, my feelings for you won’t change, ever.”

The words hung in the air, and left a bittersweet taste on Jamie’s tongue. It was soon eclipsed by the sweet urgency of Alex’s mouth. Kissing the slighter man back, Jamie warred with his heart and his head, until Alex dropped the garment bag and shoes he’d been holding and instead gripped the front of Jamie’s shirt.

“Once more, Jamie, before we go,” Alex panted. He licked his swollen lips and gazed into Jamie’s face. “I need you once before tonight.”

Just an hour ago Jamie had rebuffed the advances. The way Alex was looking at him now, however, erased any hesitation; Jamie’s need for Alex was just as glaring. This would be the last time he’d be with Alex like this. He resolved to take his time and give Alex everything he had, everything he could. 

“Then I’m yours,” Jamie murmured, leaning down to close the distance between them.

+

I didn’t kill Thomson, but I came close. Surprise worked to my advantage. I’d managed to get Cas’ body upright in a chair and seated myself on the edge of the bed, hands clasped behind my back and angled away from the door so that Thomson had no idea what was about to happen. The sunglasses on Cas’ face served to play a part; Thomson got right in his face and reached out to shake his shoulder when he noticed the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

Of course, by then it was too late. When he turned I was on him, and I delivered a swift combination, jab, jab, hook, and laid him out on the carpet. I fell on him and continued to swing until the fight in him lagged and his face looked like the prime rib roast they served at brunch downstairs. He wouldn’t be getting up in a while. 

I had to hand it to Thomson: the man had a nice ride. Cruising down the I-15 with the top down on the ‘69 Charger allowed me to filter the stream of thoughts coursing through my brain. On the white leather seat beside me lay my gun. The bastard Thomson had lifted it off of me when Fogarino had put my lights out; I hadn’t even noticed it was missing until I was searching his limp body for the keys. 

I grinned and glanced at Thomson’s phone where it rested next to the gun. I’d kept it turned on in case Fogarino, or Clarke, or most likely both, were tracking our progress back to LA. Cas’ phone was in my jacket pocket, the source of the pictures of Alex and Cook. 

The memory of it sat like a cold, hard lump of iron in my guts, and the grin dropped from my face.

_“We need to talk, Mi.”_

He’d stood up for himself that morning, and I remember seeing something in his face that I’d never seen before: determination.

Had he set me up?

I shook my head and checked my speed - getting pulled over now would end my trip prematurely.

No, Alex wouldn’t set me up, at least not consciously. And he would never willingly put Helders in harm’s way.

I still wasn’t one hundred percent convinced that he didn’t know Avery was working for Fogarino. All the times I’d thought Alex wasn’t paying attention, perhaps he’d been paying attention too much, while I hadn’t bothered. My fist clenched around the steering wheel and I glared out the windshield to where the highway melted on the horizon.

He wouldn’t-

 _But he is_ , the voice in my head snarled. 

“No,” I growled over the roar of the engine. Not my Alex, not my little diamond, not with the way he loved me and I loved him. Not after everything I’d done for him, given him, fucking _made_ him. My pulse started throbbing in my head as the voice in my head continued.

_He’s fucking Cook, and in your own pool house. Maybe even your own bed. How long do you think this has been going on for?_

“Fuck!” I roared and drove my fist into the dashboard. A sign for a rest stop caught my attention and I moved to the exit, skidding onto the ramp and yanking the steering wheel. Gravel sprayed in a wide, dusty arc, and the car finally jerked to a stop.

“Get it together, Kane,” I muttered, throwing the car into park before leaning to the glove box and rifling around. 

I didn’t know what I’d find, but there had to be something in that compartment to take the edge off. My fingers bumped a small glass vial and I sighed as I drew it out to inspect it. Cocaine, not much but enough to do the trick. I twisted the top open and dumped what was left onto the groove of my thumb, and snorted it back. I would have killed for a whiskey back, but I’d have to make due with the sudden jolt in my veins and the singeing of my nerves. My ears rang for a moment; my vision was hot and sharp.

 _Think, Kane. Think._

Things began to rapidly bubble to the surface of my memory.

 _Cook and Alex playing tennis, the two of them eyeing each other up over the net, Alex kicking his ass, and Jamie giving everything he could just to stay even. And Alex had fucked your brains out right after._

Had he been thinking about Cook?

_You know he was._

I felt sick with the notion.

 _Cook teaching Alex how to handle a gun, that fucking prick’s hands all over Alex, his mouth next to his ear, chest pressed to his back; that fucking lowlife security guard sweating all over what everyone knows is yours -_

I swallowed down the salt and bile that crept up my throat. Alex was mine. 

_“I’m yours,”_ Alex had insisted the night Homme died. _“Only yours.”_ He’d said it, and I’d said it back, over and over since then, a mantra, a fucking motto for our bedroom.

_Cook fixing Alex’s scrapes when he stepped out of line and you had to put him back in his place, behind closed doors, in intimate spaces, countless encounters._

Alex first went to Clarke while I was still recovering from Chicago. And not long after that, Cook arrived to replace Homme. Alex had made that choice with Clarke’s urging.

The first step towards Clarke’s attempt to displace me.

_Everything was peachy until you fucked up and went to Chicago._

“I’m gonna have to kill Cook,” I decided. “Make an example of him.” Oh, it didn’t work with Homme, but this would send a message to the intended recipient. “And I won’t stop with him,” I continued, a mad smile slashing over my features. “I’ll do all of them. Every single one of those motherfucking dogs who thought they could set me up.” I glanced at the rear view mirror, and saw my wild gaze staring back at me.

 _“But not Alex,”_ the me in the mirror snarled. _“Not right away. Leave him for the very last.”_

I’d given him everything he could possibly want, or at least I thought I had. What did Cook have that I didn’t? I dragged sweating palms down my face and shivered in my seat, itching to tear back down the highway and demand that he tell me before I ended his snivelling life. I’d given Alex everything, and this was how he repaid me? By throwing it back in my face and sleeping with the fucking dogs? Where did he get the brass to even consider he’d walk away from this?

_All it takes is one good fuck, Kane, you know that. You’re proof of that. You nailed Turner and he was yours until something better came along. Face it. You’re old news. Cook fucked him proper, and it made him feel puffed up and mighty._

That was it, then. I’d make Alex watch. I’d make him see what happens when he crossed me one too many times and left me no choice. Cook made him feel like a king? I’d tear them both down and Alex would know that he’s nothing without me. And in the process I might go down in a blaze of glory, but I’d be taking everyone I could with me.

“No more Prince Charming, laa,” I whispered. I loved Alex and he loved me, or he did once. He wasn’t going to leave me for some ex-jock who was good with a gun, and he wasn’t going to take from Clarke what was rightfully mine.

No one makes a fool outta Miles Kane.

+

Jamie was alone in Alex’s bed when woke. They’d spent the remainder of the morning, and the hours since noon revisiting all the places that made each other moan and gasp and surrender with shuddering sighs. A glance to his watch told him it was after three and he sat up, pushing the sheets down his lap before raking his fingers back through his hair.

“Alex?” He called.

There was no answer, and he didn’t really expect one. There had been an eagerness in Alex’s lovemaking earlier, something that told Jamie the young man was anxious and no amount of orgasms could make that brain turn off completely. The sound of the shower in the ensuite was suddenly noticeable, and Jamie took the opportunity to dig into his jeans for his phone. Thumbing the passcode in, he then scrolled through his messages, finding one from Nick that was encrypted and had been sent an hour earlier. His laptop contained the program to de-encrypt, and that was down in the poolhouse. Shaking his jeans out, he snaked them up his legs, over his hips, and then grabbed his shirt, and headed to the door of the ensuite.

“Al?” He knocked softly.

“It’s open,” Alex called back.

A billow of sweet and musky steam greeted Jamie, and he turned his attention to the frosted glass of the shower door, and the pale limbs and dark head of hair that moved behind it. A second later that door slid open and Alex grinned before he noticed Jamie was half-dressed.

“You runnin’ out on me?” he pouted, pulling his hand over his soaking hair.

“I’ve got a few things to go over with Valensi and Fab before this evening. Just wanna make sure everyone is on the same page.”

Alex nodded and scrubbed a hand down his throat and then turned his face to the water. He sputtered, rinsing himself and then turned the taps off and slung the door wide, cocking his hip at Jamie.

Jamie’s mouth dried at the sight of Alex dripping with water, and rosy from the heat of the shower.

“Can you hand me a towel?”

Nodding quickly, Jamie snagged the closest towel from the rack next to him and all but flung it at Alex, who chuckled and caught it, raising a questioning eyebrow at Jamie.

“You okay?”

Jamie nodded. “Five by five.”

Alex quirked an eyebrow. “Eh?”

With a shake of his head, Jamie changed subjects. “Everything is fine. Listen, I didn’t want to leave you without saying anything - I’ve gotta check in with Fab and Valensi, make sure they’re up to speed for tonight.”

Winding the towel around his waist Alex nodded. “So there’s a plan?”

“Not exactly,” Jamie hedged. “I just want to make sure they’re ready for anything. This thing has played out like a goddamn movie from the beginning and right now, I don’t really trust anyone.”

“Should I be worried?” Alex asked softly, pausing where he squirted shaving foam into his hand and glancing at Jamie in the mirror.

“No,” Jamie shook his head. “I’ll be at your side all evening.”

Alex smiled gently and then swiped shaving foam over his jaw and chin. “I kinda like the sound of that.”

Jamie’s heart lurched, but his expression was steady, and he flashed Alex an automatic smile. “You just focus on what you need to do - listen to Clarke, understand what this means for everyone involved, especially you.”

“I know, Jamie,” Alex grumbled. His free hand gripped the edge of the sink and he leaned forward, setting the razor to his face. He made a clean swipe and rinsed the blade methodically.

“And while you do that I’ll do everything in my power to make certain that there are no surprises.”

“Right,” Alex replied tightly. He focused on the swirling, murky water in the bowl of the sink.

“Hey,” Jamie murmured. He waited until Alex’s head came up and they were looking at one another in the mirror. “There are no guarantees that this will go smooth start to finish. This is serious shit.”

Alex’s hand tightened on the sink and his shoulders hunched. “I’m well aware of that,” he growled.

“Then you’re well aware that you’ve got a job, and I’ve got a job. We all have our roles tonight.”

“Yeah, you’ve told me this about a thousand times, Jamie,” Alex snapped. He made another path with the razor and winced as he nicked his jawbone. He swore sharply and set the razor aside, tilting his chin to the light and angling his head to assess the damage. “Look, I don’t want to sound ungrateful but...can you just...leave? For now?” He chuckled ruefully. “You want me to get my head in the game, then you gotta get out.”

Jamie detected the edge in Alex’s voice, and knew that he’d worn out his welcome at this point in time. It was better to leave now than risk saying anything more and blowing his cover. Jamie nodded and slipped out of the room, and made his way downstairs.

When he’d made it back to the pool house he loaded the program and synced it with his phone, and waited as the message unscrambled on screen:

_**Chung is on standby. She’ll fill you in on what you need to know. I’ll see you when the smoke clears.** _

+

_You can do this._

I stood in front of the mirror wondering if I believed that voice in my head.

Despite Jamie’s attempts to relax me - and I was relaxed for a spell, blissfully unaware of anything save for the heat of his body and the sound of my name on his breath - I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something waiting for me at Clarke’s. Perhaps it was the very idea that Miles would be there, that we would finally see one another for what we truly were: he, a ruthless killer who sacrificed someone who was practically a brother to me; and me - 

What would he see in me?

The surface of my being had been scraped smooth; I was a far cry from that long-haired bum that Miles had picked up off the floor of a bathroom a million years ago. I wasn’t the charming little piece of tail that everyone had assumed I was - even I had been under that impression. I’d been a punching bag and a balm for Miles’ anger. None of that seemed apparent as I gazed in the mirror. The badass wannabe, the one with the quiff, was gone, too, and in his place there stood a very different animal, slicked back hair, cocked jaw and hip, clothes that fit like they were sewn on, polished and buffed in all the right places.

My hands came to the sides of my hair and smoothed it back again as I looked myself over.

“Get out of your head, Turner.” I fiddled with the buttons on my cuffs before folding the sleeves back. “You can do this.” I stared at the man glaring back at me, and set my palms on the surface, turning my face one way, and then the other. “Given the chance Miles will kill you,” I heard myself say.

He could still do it tonight.

Oh, Jamie would try to stop it, but Miles always had a trick up his sleeve, someone leveraged and paid to tip the scales to his favour. That was in his nature. I was angry at Jamie for trying to tell me as much, like I didn’t know by now. But I was more angry at myself that I’d let it get this far. Men were dead, _Matthew_ was dead, victims of Miles’ ego, an out of control beast that took and took and wouldn’t stop until he’d destroyed everything around him.

I could do this. I _had_ to do this. I had to get out.

“So show some teeth,” I muttered, pushing away from the mirror and turning to the bed where I’d laid my holster.

I slid it on, housed the SIG that Miles had given to me, ensuring that it was loaded with one in the chamber and that the safety was off. I then shrugged into my jacket and gave my hair another swipe with my hands, and looked at myself one more time.

That sleek thing watched me closely with blazing eyes, and flashed a hunter’s smile before replying: “Time to fly.”

+

Halfway through drinking his beer, Jamie almost choked when Alex swept into the kitchen. Dressed in fitted plum trousers, a black shirt, and a black jacket thrown overtop, Alex certainly looked the part of someone about to secure his future. But it was his face that sold it, his prominent features trained into a cool veneer, his dark eyes observant and borderline calculating. He moved fluidly as he sauntered across the room and Jamie stared at the line of his shoulders and the sway of his hips. Settled in front of fridge, Alex sighed, pulled the door open, and peered inside.

“You look-” Jamie broke off as Alex swung his gaze toward him, eyebrow cocked indifferently.

“I look…?” he drawled, closing the fridge with his hip and leaning against it. He crossed his arms and waited for Jamie to continue.

“Composed,” Jamie breathed. “Prepared.”

Alex’s eyes widened slightly and a grin cracked his face. “Do I?” he asked playfully.

“Aye,” Jamie nodded.

Alex hummed and reached out, plucking the beer from Jamie’s grasp. After taking a sip he swallowed, and let out a breath, and a giggle that popped the bubble of imagery. “Good,” Alex rasped. “Cuz it feels like me heart is gonna burst out me chest.”

Jamie laughed and shook his head, and stuffed his hands into his pockets as he watched Alex fiddle with the label on the bottle. “You just keep your cool like you were and it’ll be smooth sailing.” He brushed past Alex and opened the fridge to find another beer.

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” Alex murmured, eyeing the lines of Jamie’s navy three piece suit, and the way it was tailored to his shoulders and torso.

“This is old hat,” Jamie shrugged, snapping the top off his bottle. He took a swig. “It’s part of the-”

“Part of the job, aye, it’s all part of the job,” Alex droned. He squinted his eyes and set what was now his bottle down on the counter, and reached out, sliding his fingertips down the lapel of Jamie’s jacket. “But you don’t wear three pieces for just anybody.” He pouted then, and lifted his gaze to Jamie’s. “Or maybe you do?”

Jamie shook his head slowly. “You got me,” he said softly. “I’m all dressed up for you.”

Flattening his hand on Jamie’s chest, Alex opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the doorbell.

Jamie paused. “Are you expecting someone?”

Alex chuckled and looked at his watch. “It’s Alexa. Guess she’s a little early. I’ll go let her in.” He moved swiftly and fitted his fingers into the hair at the nape of Jamie’s neck, and firmly pulled him down. “Be right back,” he whispered over Jamie’s mouth. 

Jamie watched Alex leave, his jacket flapping behind him. When he was alone, he let out a breath, and steadied himself with a hand on the counter. It was almost too much, having to keep playing the part when he knew how it would end. He had never meant to hurt Alex. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure he could handle what waited for them at the close of the evening.

Inside his jacket his phone chirped, and he pulled it out, blinking at the message on the screen:

_**Stuck in traffic. Should be there in about twenty minutes or so.** _

It was from Alexa.

+

“So, you thinking of heading back to Paris after this?”

Valensi glanced from the monitors to where Fab stood in the doorway of the security room. He pursed his mouth in annoyance and gave half a shrug, and then looked back to the screens. “Suppose it depends on what Cas is planning. I could stand to do a stint stateside, though.”

“Yeah,” Fab nodded, moving into the room to lean against the desk. “I don’t think I can drink another mineral water.”

Valensi chuckled, his gaze flicking from screen to screen. “Maybe we can convince him to set up shop in Italy for a spell.”

“Not after Capri. Count me out.”

“What, you mean after what happened to Homme?” Valensi snorted with a shake of his head. “That was all Kane. Besides, you’re used to that brand of brutality. Been working for Carlos long enough.”

“Doesn’t mean I like it,” Fab muttered.

“Don’t go and grow a conscience now, Fab,” Valensi warned. “I mean, what the hell else are you gonna do at this point in your life? Quit? And what, buy a fucking boat and sail around the Caribbean?”

“That doesn’t sound too bad-”

“Fuck you, Fab, you and I both know that once you’re in this life, you’re in. There’s no way out except for the _only_ way out.” He gave Fab a pointed look before looking back to the monitors. “You know that,” he muttered.

Fab sighed, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Hey, have you talked to Cas since last night? I thought he was coming in on the 2pm flight.”

“No, he hasn’t called,” Valensi muttered distractedly. “What time did Turner’s lawyer say she was coming?”

“Bout six, I think?” Fab answered. “That’s what Cook told me.” He leaned forward to the monitor that Valensi was concentrating on. “That her?” He glanced at his watch. “She’s a little early.”

Valensi gave a faint shake of his head. “No, no, that’s not her. She drives a Tesla.”

“That’s definitely not a Tesla,” Fab drawled, watching as a glossy black, vintage Dodge Charger rolled through the gates and pulled up the curved drive.

The driver’s side door swung open and a lean figure stepped out. Sunglasses covered half the face, but the shape of the jaw, the buzzed hair, and the cut of the suit were unmistakable. 

Fab sputtered. “Holy fuck, that’s-”

“Move!” Valensi barked, drawing his gun and shouldering Fab aside to get to the door.

Unholstering his piece, Fab scrambled after Valensi as the unmistakable sound of the doorbell rang through the house.

+

“You’re early!” Alex exclaimed, opening the door wide. “Come in and have a drink…” Alex’s mouth went dry and his stomach plummeted to his feet as he stared at Miles, who stood smirking on the front step.

Miles grinned wolfishly, his eyes wild. “Oh, I think I’m right on time, laa.”

“Miles,” Alex choked out. “What are you doing here?”

“Forgot me keys,” he shrugged, moving a hand into his coat.

Behind Alex footsteps thundered as Fab and Valensi exploded into the front entry. “Mr. Turner, get down-”

With wide eyes Alex watched as Miles withdrew his SIG, the blue steel flashing in the late afternoon sun, and aimed it over Alex’s shoulder. The shot exploded in Alex’s eardrums and he yelped sharply, staggering to the side.

“One down,” Miles muttered, shoving Alex aside and stepping over Fab’s body where it lay bleeding from a bullet hole to the forehead. “Two to go.”

“Don’t do it, Kane!” Valensi yelled from where he’d tucked behind the wall. “If you harm Alex-”

“You’ll what?” Miles barked back. “You’ll lose your job? Clarke will be disappointed in you?” Cocking the hammer, he squeezed off three more shots, making the plaster and wood explode. “Get out here you fucking bastard, and face the music.”

“Jesus _fuck_ , Miles!” Alex wailed from where he huddled against the opposite wall. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting what’s owed to me, laa.” He glanced at Alex with a harsh stare. “And trust me, you’re up to your ears in debt. I’ll deal with you momentarily.” He looked back to where Valensi had ducked and moved, pressing himself to the wall.

It all moved in slow motion, and Alex shook where he watched as Miles and Valensi drew closer to one another. A shadow down the hall caught his eye and Alex watched Jamie, crouched low and advancing to the front hall, his gun drawn and ready.

But Jamie wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at where Valensi was. Jamie shook his head and slowly craned his neck, lifting his gun and aiming.

“No,” Alex breathed, shaking his head.

Miles heard his plea and looked to where he was staring before shooting blindly into the shadows. The floorboards creaked and he looked back in time to see Valensi edge around the corner with the barrel of his gun. Swinging his own piece around in an arc, Miles aimed at Valensi and reached with his free hand to clamp around Alex’s bicep. Pulling sharply, Alex spun to his feet and in front of Miles, gasping as he came face to face with Valensi’s gun.

“Your move, Valensi. Think you can hit me at close range with Alex in front of me?”

Alex flailed in Miles’ grasp, and Miles laughed, banding an arm around Alex’s shoulders and pulling him back roughly with a grunt. “I missed you,” he whispered, scraping his mouth over Alex’s cheek.

Alex shuddered in his grasp. “Please, don’t do this.”

“You callin’ the shots now, hey? Clarke named you his next big bad wolf?” Miles pressed his nose to Alex’s neck and inhaled pointedly. “Nah, you’re scared shitless. I can smell it on ya.” He looked to Valensi and watched his gaze flicker to a point over his shoulder. He grinned.

“Or maybe that’s just Cook I can smell.” Keeping his gaze trained on Valensi, he called over his shoulder, “That you, Cook?” His tone was manic, almost delighted, and he shook his head. “Come on out here and look me in the eye, you son of a bitch!” 

“Just let him go, Kane,” Jamie called, using his best placating tone. “I know you don’t wanna hurt Alex. Let him go, and we’ll take this to Clarke’s.”

Miles chuckled and shook his head. “You think cuz you dirtied up my little diamond you’re gonna take my place?”

Jamie clenched his jaw and slid forward, edging into the foyer. With the way Miles was angled, along with Alex as his shield, Jamie didn’t have a clean shot. He looked to Valensi. 

“Now, everyone is gonna put their fucking guns down, or Alex is gonna shit lead,” Miles growled.

“Don’t be stupid, Kane,” Jamie replied, moving closer. 

When Miles turned to glare at Jamie, Valensi inched forward.

Miles sneered. “I’m beyond being reasoned with, especially by _you_.” He leveled his gun with Alex’s temple. “How much does he mean to you?”

“This isn’t about Alex-”

“ _Isn’t it_?” Miles roared, cutting Jamie off. He pressed the barrel hard enough to make Alex wince. “Did he tell you he loves you? Hm? That he’s yours? Because he’s _lying_. He’s _mine_ ,” Miles spat. “You get that through all that fucking hair, Cook?”

“Then you don’t wanna damage him,” Jamie replied, keeping his tone even. Rotating his wrist, he raised his weapon, and opened his free hand in surrender. “I’ll put the gun down. All right? I’ll put it down, and you let Alex go.”

Alex shook in Miles’ grasp, and he couldn’t keep the tears from spilling down his cheeks. “Mi,” he breathed.

“No, Cook, you don’t get it. I’ll never let Alex go. You’ll have to pry him from my cold, dead hands.”

“That can be arranged,” Valensi quipped as he moved in another inch.

Miles looked back to Valensi. “Don’t fuckin’ try me, mate. I’ve been killing assholes off all morning, you wanna be next?”

Valensi didn’t flinch, and his gun was steady.

Miles pulled Alex closer. “I like your outfit, baby,” he murmured. “Isn’t this something I picked out? Oh, that’s right. I picked them all out, just for you, cuz I love ya so fucking much.” His left hand, still splayed over Alex’s collarbones, slid down his chest, curving over his pectorals and flanks until it slipped under Alex’s jacket.

“I’ll shoot through him if I have to,” Valensi warned.

Miles’ hand moved another inch under Alex’s jacket, and cupped the butt of his gun where it sat in his shoulder holster.

“Did you take the safety off, baby?” Miles crooned so that only Alex could hear. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled Alex’s gun free. In the next second he shoved Alex forward and aimed Alex’s gun at Jamie, and trained his own on Valensi. 

Alex slammed into Valensi, knocking them both to the ground. Whirling back to Jamie, Miles opened fire.

Jamie dove and into the living room, and took a running start before sailing over a couch as bullets whizzed past him. Hot, searing pain sliced into his arm, and then again into his leg, and he faltered, slamming to his knees behind the couch and wincing. His fingers felt numb around the gun and he struggled to maintain control, as he shrugged out of his coat to assess the damage. The shirt he wore was torn at the back of his upper arm and he was bleeding freely, the bullet having torn right through the muscle. While he knew that while he could hold the gun, he wouldn’t be able to raise it much higher than his armpit to aim. He dug his fingers into the knot of his tie and pulled it loose, before wrapping it tightly above the wound. His leg would be fine, nothing more than a graze, and it didn’t seem too deep. He glanced about room, scanning for any sort of movement.

“Come on, Cookie, where you hidin’?” Miles sang out as he slinked down into the living room.

Hissing sharply, Jamie pressed himself against the couch and made himself as small as possible and dared to angle his head around the arm so he could see the entrance of the living room. Valensi burst through a second later, his eyes scanning, and finally fixing on the opposite wall of the room.

“This ends now, Kane,” Valensi called, raising his gun. “Who do you think is the better shot?”

The sound of a bullet firing tore through the air, followed immediately by a second shot, and Jamie froze as he watched two red blooms of blood unfurl on the front of Valensi’s shirt. A moment later and he staggered to his knees, blood pooling out of his mouth.

“Fuck,” he sputtered as he glanced down. His gun slipped from his hand as he reached to gingerly touch the patches of blood that were growing bigger by the second.

Wide-eyed, Jamie watched as Alex slowly walked in, Fab's gun in his hand, and his expression cool.

“Alex,” Miles breathed. “Jesus fucking Christ, Alex.” He was overwhelmed, torn between wanting to hate Alex for what he’d done with Jamie, and the love and pride swelling in his chest at the sight of his lover who had finally come into his own. “Baby,” he murmured, pushing away from the wall, and staggering out to meet the younger man. 

Alex tightened his jaw and glared at Miles. “Don’t call me that.”

Miles’ smile turned confused, and he shook his head. “I didn’t think you had it in you. I practically had to pull the trigger for you when you shot Avery.”

“I’ve come to the realization that you don’t think much of me beyond how I look in a suit,” Alex drawled. “Or how well I keep my mouth shut.”

“Ouch. That hurts, baby.” Miles pouted mockingly. “That really hurts. ‘Course I think about, Al, think about you all the time.” He stepped into Alex’s space and Alex hesitated, but held his ground. It only served to make Miles’ grin turn wicked. He slid his own pistol into his holster, while he still held Alex’s in his other hand. Reaching up, he pushed the errant strand of Alex’s hair back from his forehead, and noted the blood flecks on his pale skin. Then, he met Alex’s gaze as his voice turned cold. “You occupied each and every one of my thoughts on the drive back here.”

Beneath Miles’ hands Alex’s jaw flexed, he ground his teeth together in an attempt to remain emotionless. 

“I thought about the day we first met, and how you looked so sullen and scared, how you were just waiting for someone like me to come in and set things straight for ya,” Miles began, tilting his head and keeping a firm grip on Alex’s face. “I thought about you the night you came to see me in Chicago, after I got shot. The nights that followed, Al, were long, but were nothing compared to last night, and the night before. I was so scared, laa, after what happened to Helders. I was scared for us - for _you_.”

Alex remained silent, barely daring to breathe. Just hearing Miles utter Helders’ name was enough to make his heart clench, and his throat to ache with emotion, but he forced himself to remain neutral.

Miles went on. “I thought about the last words you said to me, about how you wanted - how you needed - to talk about us,” he paused, knitting his brows together, “like maybe you wanted what I’ve always wanted, Alex, to be in this together. You and I against everyone else.”

“And _then_ ,” Miles continued, his voice twisting. “Then I come to find out that it was in vain. I find out that instead of you worryin’ about me there in Vegas, you’re...you’re with someone else.”

With a sharp inhale, Alex gave a useless shake of his head, and his gaze frantically darted until he saw Jamie crouched below the arm of the couch, his skin pale, and damp with sweat. He quickly looked back to Miles. “Miles, please-”

Miles glanced to where Alex had been looking and saw Jamie. He then looked back to Alex. Still cupping his face, he lifted the gun and twisted the barrel into the underside of his chin.

“Please what,” Miles huffed, bringing them close enough their noses touched. “Hmm? Please, Mi, what? You gonna ask me to spare his life? This...this fucking lowlife who thought it would be okay to stick his dick in ya while I was down and out in Vegas?” He clicked his tongue mockingly, and shook his head. “Shame on you, Al, baby. Ask me how I know. Go on. Ask me how I found out you were getting fucked by Cook.”

“Miles,” Alex warbled uselessly.

“I had to find out through _Casablancas_ , who found out through Valensi. Imagine it, will you, the humiliation, Alex, the notion that everyone else knew but _me_. Oh, don’t you worry, Cas paid for it. He won’t breathe another word of it, I guarantee.” He paused and glared at Jamie once more and then turned to Alex. Looking into those dark eyes he saw all he needed to: Alex wouldn’t deny it; he was a terrible liar anyway. Miles felt his stomach lurch. “Now, are gonna ask me to forgive ya? Stupid little whore, you think I should forgive you that?”

Alex remained silent, and Miles sneered. “That’s what I thought.” He let go of Alex’s face and reared up, backhanding Alex across the mouth. He watched with satisfaction as Alex dropped to his knees and cupped his mouth, blood already pouring out from between his fingers. The gun Alex had been holding skittered across the parquet flooring. 

Miles crossed the floor toward Jamie. When he noticed the weak grip Jamie had on his gun, he swiftly kicked it away, slid Alex’s gun into the other side of the holster, and reached down to snare a fistful of blond hair.

“Get up,” Miles grunted.

Jamie clawed at Miles hand as best he could, fought against the hold, but with only one good arm and his injured leg, he had to choose his moment, and save his energy for when it mattered. If he could take the focus off of Alex-

“I said get _up_ ,” Miles barked. “Stand up, you fucking cunt!”

Pushing to his feet, Jamie winced, and glowered at Miles.

For his part, Miles looked Jamie up and down a few times before drawing his fist back and driving it into Jamie’s mouth. The sound was hollow, meaty, and Jamie’s lip burst open immediately. For a moment he sagged against the grip Miles had on his hair, but he pushed through it, and spat blood out.

“You gonna beat the shit outta me, Kane?” Jamie rasped. “Make yourself feel better for the way you treated Alex?”

“You don’t fucking talk about Alex,” Miles hissed, throwing another punch into Jamie’s face with enough force to drop the man to the floor. “You don’t fucking talk about Alex!” He screamed, swinging his leg back and kicking Jamie in the ribs. Over and over he lashed out at Jamie. “You don’t look at him, you don’t think about him, you don’t _touch_ him!” 

Jamie did his best to cover his vital organs, weathering the brunt of Miles’ kicks as he gagued his proximity to Alex, and to his gun. Fuelled by cocaine and rage, Miles was a force to be reckoned with, and soon he was on his knees, hovering over Jamie as he continued to rain down his assault. But he was cocky, too, and when Jamie saw an opening he took it, and caught one of Miles’ wild punches. With a twist of his own hips and a shifting of body weight, Jamie threw Miles off balance, and pulled Miles’ arm back into a hold that torqued bones and muscles in an unnatural angle. 

Miles growled, and thrashed, but the more he struggled, the more pain shot through the arm Jamie had a hold of. With another quick move Jamie was up and over Miles, and he pressed his his knee down into the arm he’d twisted, and sent a series of blows to Miles’ face in rapid succession.

Miles heard the crack of his cheekbone, and his face went numb as he stalled beneath Jamie. He couldn’t go down like this - he wouldn’t be beaten to pulp like he’d done Thomson, and especially not by Jamie. With one eye beginning to swell shut, Miles reached up and sucker punched Jamie in his injured arm, causing Jamie to grunt, and pull his next punch with a howl of pain. Twisting under Jamie, Miles drew his fist back and punched again. Jamie doubled over and Miles shoved him aside, sending him sprawling back onto the floor. Scrambling to his feet, Miles felt for his gun, drew it from the holster, and took aim.

“Was he a good fuck, Cook? I hope for your sake he was, cuz he’s gonna be your last.” His finger slid on the trigger, and he squeezed it with a smile.

“No!” Alex crashed into Miles just as the bullet left the chamber, and it went off target, missing Jamie’s head and instead tearing into his shoulder. Jamie dropped to the floor and lay motionless.

Miles watched as Alex scrambled toward Jamie, sobbing and reaching for his hand. “Oh, god, Jamie, no,” Alex gasped, dragging his fingers down Jamie’s throat for a pulse. It was weak, barely detectable, but it was something, and Alex quickly searched for his phone.

“Get out of the way, Alex,” Miles ordered coolly.

Alex glared up at Miles, to the gun he still held, and then back to those burning hazel eyes. “You can’t be serious,” he sniffed. He put himself further between Jamie and the barell of Miles’ gun. “Don’t - don’t do this, Mi, we can work something out-”

“ _We_?” Miles mocked. “What’s this ‘we’ bullshit, love? Hmm? There is no we right now, Alexander.” He blinked and looked into Alex’s face. “You fucked him. Didn’t you?” Blinking back tears, his teeth clenched together, and he turned around, pacing the living room. “You fucked him,” he growled, looking back to Alex, “and you _lied_ to me.” Turning his back once more, he crossed to the bar and splashed whiskey into a glass.

Alex flinched at the venom in Miles’ voice and he reached blindly behind him for Jamie’s hand. “You lied to me, too,” Alex replied, watching Miles throw back the shot of whiskey. “About Chicago, and about Vegas, about Matthew, about everything.” He felt Jamie’s fingers flex weakly, and then a cold, heavy weight settled in his palm, Jamie’s fingers closing his own around it. 

It was a gun - Jamie’s gun, to be exact. When Miles had thrown him off he’d landed within arm’s reach. The bullet to his shoulder had sent him reeling, and he’d blacked out for a split second, waking just in time to find Alex shielding him from further damage. When Miles had turned away, Jamie had moved and snagged the piece, and shoved it into Alex’s grasp.

Alex felt Jamie’s hold for a second longer and then it slackened, and Alex closed his eyes briefly, tears rolling down his cheeks. Then, taking a shaky breath, Alex licked his lips and rose to his feet as he went on. 

“I know you were going to tell Fogarino about me. That I killed Avery. And you let Matthew _die_ rather than take the blame yourself.” His voice cracked on Matt’s name, but he wouldn’t be deterred. “You let him die, Miles. He was like a _brother_ to me - to you, Miles, he’d been with you since the beginning. Through _everything_ \- Chicago and Capri and you let him take the fall for your own ego trip.” He steadied himself, and looked into Miles’ eyes. “You wanna talk to me about loyalty, Mi? You’re nothing but a backstabbing coward, and you’ll kill anyone you can to get to the top.”

“You’re right,” Miles nodded as as he turned back, a brittle smile forming on his mouth. “I’ll take down anyone that gets in my way,” he declared, moving back so that he stood before Alex. “Even you.” He searched for a glimmer of fear in Alex’s dark eyes but he saw nothing but his own reflection. It made his blood run cold. “Now get out of the way, Alex, unless you wanna get shot, too.”

“You wouldn’t,” Alex insisted. He palmed the gun behind his back.

The movement made Miles tilt his head. “You’re so sure of that, aren’t you? Got me all figured out? Let me tell you a little something, Alex, about what it takes to get to where I am. You don’t show all your cards, not until you’re the last man standing.” He leaned in and reached around Alex, and smiled when he found the gun in the smaller man’s grip.

“What are you doin,” Miles said, closing his hand over the gun. “Huh? Shit, you gonna shoot me, baby? Or I am I gonna have to pull the trigger for ya?” Prying the gun from Alex’s hand he brought it between them, holding it up for Alex to see before he tossed it aside. “Now what are you gonna do?”

Alex let go of his breath, and his shoulders sagged as his face crumbled. “Miles,” he sighed raggedly. “Oh god, Miles, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all of it.” He hiccuped a gasp and then let the tears flow as he drew in toward himself.

Miles’ mouth went dry, and the urge to take Alex into his arms overwhelmed him. “Shhh, laa,” he whispered, gathering Alex toward him, pulling his head down to his shoulder. “I know. I know you are, Alex.” He felt Alex tremble in his grasp and he pressed his lips down into the dark hair on his head before he reached with his free hand and cupped Alex’s face tenderly. His bottom lip was split and swollen, his hair dangling in his face, but Miles didn’t care. “Alex, I love ya,” he said thickly. “As much as a man like me can love someone,” he continued. 

“Kiss me,” Alex gasped, curling a hand into Miles’ lapel. “Miles, please, if you love me, you’ll kiss me, and show me that I’m still yours. That I can still be yours.”

He never could deny Alex anything. With a nod he closed his eyes and pressed his mouth to Alex’s cool, dry lips.

It was a fleeting kiss, one that made Alex’s heart ache hollowly, and he pulled back with another sob and licked his lips. “I’m sorry, Miles,” he whispered, as his hand slid down into Miles’ jacket. He tilted his chin up and kissed him again, full and lush, and bittersweet, as he stroked his fingers down Miles’ flank

Miles could taste Alex’s blood, and his tears, and maybe his own, too, but nothing really mattered beyond the feel of Alex in his arms, those delicate limbs holding onto him so strongly it almost seemed unreal.

“I’m sorry,” he heard Alex whisper again.

“I’m sorry too, baby,” Miles nodded as he pulled away. Then, he felt it - the cold, hard, unmistakeable press of a gun. He glanced down at saw it first hand: the custom SIG he’d given Alex was dug into his ribs. “Alex,” he begged with a sad chuckle. “What are you-”

“I’m sorreh, babeh,” Alex spoke clearly, “but you said it yourself: you don’t show all your cards until you’re the last man standing.” He squeezed the trigger just like Jamie had taught him, and sent a bullet tearing into Miles’ midsection.

The sound was like thunder, cracking in the open space of the living room, and Alex watched as Miles gaped at him in disbelief.

“Alex?” he croaked.

Inhaling sharply, Alex squeezed the trigger again, and then a third time, sending the last two bullets to Miles’ stomach, and hip. Miles blinked silently and stepped back, tripping on his feet and landing on one knee, staring up at Alex. 

“Never doubted you for a second, laa,” he murmured before sliding to the floor.

+

Jamie woke with a start, gasping sharply as he came to in his private room at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. For a moment he was confused - that last thing he remembered was pressing a gun to Alex’s hand and then...and then nothing. Looking down his body he noted the IV dug into the back of his hand, and felt the irritating pull of the oxygen tube pressed under his nose. He clutched at this first and yanked it free as he sat up. A sharp stab of pain in his shoulder stopped his motion, and he groaned in agony just as the door swung open and a pair of nurses rushed in, followed by Nick O’Malley.

“You’re awake,” O’Malley pointed out uselessly as he watched the nurses check Jamie’s vitals.

Jamie grunted. “How long have I been out?”

“Forty-eight hours, more or less. Gave us quite a scare - when we came to get you, the paramedics had a hell of a time finding a pulse.” Here, O’Malley paused and gave Jamie a genuine smile. “Glad to see you’re okay.”

Jamie sagged back against the pillows with some firm persuasion from one of the nurses, and waited until they’d given him the all clear to talk for a bit. Once they’d left the room, Jamie quickly looked to O’Malley.

“Where’s Alex?”

“He’s in custody down at headquarters.”

“And Kane? Is he dead?”

“Surprisingly, no,” O’Malley replied. “That Scouser is one resilient bastard, even after Turner put three bullets in him. He’s in serious but stable condition over over at UCLA Med Center. Doctors expect a full recovery. I figured we’d give him a chance to heal up before we throw him behind bars.” He sighed and sat heavily in one of the chairs next to Jamie’s bed. “We got him, Jamie, on at least two charges of murder - we found Casablancas with his windpipe crushed at the Wynn Resort in Vegas, and he shot Fabrizio Moretti point blank. If we can get Turner to talk, Kane will face even more charges.”

Jamie shook his head, the information O’Malley was downloading on him swirling around disjointedly. “What happened, Mal? You said Alex shot Kane?”

O’Malley nodded. “Shot Valensi, too. Honestly, it’s not looking good for him. Without a plea bargain, he could spend a lot of time behind bars. The DA wants to try him for the murders of Cam Avery, and Nicholas Valensi, and as an accomplice to Homme’s murder. Attempted manslaughter on Kane, but he may be able to plead self defence for that one.”

“And Clarke?”

“Gave us the slip. When Chung arrived at Kane’s mansion she stepped into a bloodbath, more or less. She called it in when she found Alex huddled over you.”

Jamie swallowed thickly. “Does he know?”

“That you’re DEA?” O’Malley shook his head. “I don’t think so. When I got the call from Chung we aborted the mission to Clarke’s and rerouted the team to Venice. Alex was placed under arrest, but…” he trailed off and rubbed a hand over his beard, looking grim.

“But what?” Jamie prodded.

“We more or less had to drag him off of you. There’s a good chance he thinks you’re dead. I’m told he’s been asking about you, but we haven’t given him any information.”

“Jesus, Mal, you can’t just let him think the worst,” Jamie growled. “He’s not a-”

“A prisoner?” O’Malley snapped. “A criminal?” He shook his head. “He is, Jamie, you and I both know it. No matter how much you _don’t_ want to believe it, however much of this isn’t his fault, he’s in it, and he’s in deep. He’s killed men. And more to the point, he’s witnessed countless acts of trafficking, extortion, and murder. Someone has to do the time.”

“But if he talks - if we can get him to give us names, dates, places-”

“ _If_ ,” O’Malley interjected. “So far, he’s said nothing. I can’t keep him in the holding cell forever, you know. If he’s not going to talk, he’s going to be transferred to county where he’ll await trial. His bail is posted at five million, and I don’t think he knows anybody that has that kind of pocket change.”

“Clarke does,” Jamie muttered.

“I told you, Clarke is gone-”

“That doesn’t mean he won’t make arrangements. We need to get Alex to talk, and soon.” Jamie glanced down at himself once more. “How long am I gonna be in here?”

“You got lucky,” O’Malley explained. “According to your doctor, you suffered some blood loss, but the bullet in your shoulder missed your lung by about half an inch. The wound on your leg is superficial, but there is some muscle and tissue damage to your right tricep. There’s some concern you might not hold a gun again.”

Jamie’s jaw clenched stubbornly. He wasn’t interested in anything beyond making contact with Alex. “When can I get out?”

“Cook - _Jamie_ ,” O’Malley began. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be present at his questioning. I mean, if he’s not talking to us now, what makes you think he’s gonna talk to you? You’ve been lying to him for months, you let your personal life interfere with work, and he’s caught in the crossfire.”

“I need to see him. I need to talk to him, to reason with him, Mal. Please. It may be our only chance.”

Rubbing his hands over his face, O’Malley sighed with resignation. “I’ll talk to the doctor. See if he can make an exception. You can be present for the questioning, but in another room, Cook, understood? If I have to do what I think I have to do, I don’t need you in there when you’re emotionally compromised.”

“Nick,” Jamie began.

“No. No more half-assed attempts at this, Jamie. We do this my way or we don’t do it at all. You’re to be present, but only as an observer in a separate room.”

Jamie sighed. There wasn’t much he could do but agree to O’Malley’s terms at this point. “All right,” he replied. “Just hurry up and get me out of here.”

+

I would chalk up those four walls of the dank holding cell as another thing I didn’t expect myself to experience in my life, but I’ve learned by now that nothing in this life is expected. Nothing can be foreseen. You can only deal with the consequences. And these are mine: four walls, a door with a small square window, a low cot, a lovely navy jumpsuit, and a pot to piss in.

But that’s what you get when you kill a man, I suppose. It’s not that the blood doesn’t wash off, either, because it does. But Miles’ face when he realized I’d shot him comes to me whenever I try to sleep. Maybe that’s what happens when you kill a man you love, or loved at some point.

Still, it was Jamie’s body I’d hovered over when the silence came crashing down in the mansion. I’d watched Miles sink to the floor, watched the life flicker in those sharp hazel eyes, and then he was gone like the last wisps of smoke from a match that had burned itself out. I’d turned to Jamie then, fallen to my knees, felt his blood soak into my trousers as I did so, and I curled my fingers into his, desperate to feel his strength once more.

_“Jameh, please, you can’t...I can’t do this without you,” I breathed, leaning over him and pressing my lips to his forehead. He already felt cold. “Jameh,” I heard my voice crack. Huddled over his prone body I finally wept, for him, and for Miles, for Matthew, for Avery, for everyone that had had to die because of me._

_Alexa found me like that; she’d entered the mansion through the front door that was left wide open after Miles’ grand entrance. She’d stepped over Fab’s body, and over Valensi, so calm, so cool, so silently that I didn’t even know she was there until she touched my shoulder and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I looked up at her and shook my head, unable to determine what her expressionless face meant. Then, she’d taken out her phone and turned back to walk across the parquet floor, her heels clicking hollowly as she spoke to someone._

_She sank to the stairs then, careful not to touch anything, and avoiding the pools of blood as best she could. I don’t know how long she sat there, or how long I’d sat with Jamie holding his hand. The room seemed to come alive at once, men on all sides swarming, armed to the teeth and bearing kevlar that boasted 'DEA' in bright yellow._

I can still hear the drone of the agent as he read me my rights, just as vividly as I can see Jamie laying on the floor, a pair of agents crouched nearby, one shaking his head grimly, and the other nodding faintly. And as they pulled me out of the living room toward the front door, I looked to where I’d left Miles. They were already covering him with a sheet.

I went numb then, and I’m still numb now. The agent in charge, O’Malley, has tried to bargain with me on several occasions, but I refuse to talk. I just want to see Jamie. I want to know he’s alright, but they’re not telling me anything. I think I’m expected to play ball, and maybe I can use that as my leverage. If they’ll just tell me if Jamie is alive and well or...or not, then maybe I can tell them what I know. O’Malley tells me that I’ll be serving time either way, and that this may shorten my sentence. My bail is astronomical. No one is coming to save my ass, as he puts it.

So, now I sit, and I wait for whatever is coming my way. I’ll drive myself crazy with the what-ifs and the should-haves; we can’t change the past. We can only prepare ourselves for the repercussions of our actions. I’ve done more with the first twenty five years of my life than most people do in their entire lifetime. And I’ll pay for it, of that I’m certain.

+

On the third day I’m hauled to the locker room in their headquarters and given a chance to shower. It isn’t a lavish affair of course, just a quick douse under the lukewarm spray, and a once over with a bar of Ivory soap, all while under the watchful gaze of two guards flanking the stall. The institutionalism of it has the metallic familiarity of a memory not quite mine, and the antiseptic nature has me reeling close to vomiting. I half expect there to be a sheet of butcher paper on the floor to catch the things that fall away. I half expect Matthew to be there next to me, telling me it’s going to be okay.

I’m given a comb with which I slick my hair back from my suddenly too gaunt face. I haven’t shaved since the morning I was getting ready to go to Clarke’s… was that only three days ago? The mirror tells me it’s more like a lifetime. I don’t know if I recognize the creature staring back at me, a wild and manic version of the thing that had lurked beneath the widow’s peak. An animal held captive for too long, perhaps, and now on the verge of having its wings clipped. I don’t have time to contemplate beyond that as I’m prodded into drying off and getting dressed once more.

When I’ve slipped back into the scratching hold of yet another jumpsuit, a giggle of absurdity bubbles from my lips. Christ, Miles would - _Miles would roll over in the grave to see me like this_ , I realize, _dressed in the chalky navy blue of prison issued polyester._

_“Where’s your cashmere and your linen now, laa?”_

When I look into the mirror, all I see is him staring back at me.

I think I’m beginning to lose my mind.

+

_“Sooner or later I would have caught up with you, Alexander.”_

I jerk awake, having fallen asleep at some point in the listlessness brought on by being held in custody. There are more than just ghosts waiting for me when I close my eyes, and I bury the heels of my hands against my eyelids, pressing until I see stars, and not the monster that’s watching, and waiting. Always waiting.

A sharp rap of something against the holding cell door brings me upright, and I balance on the edge of my cot, eyes blinking in the bright burn of halogen, fingers curled around the ledge of the slab meant to serve as a bed, and I wait.

O’Malley is on the other side of the door. His face is grim; but I don’t think he’s got much of a reason to smile, even if he has told me on several occasions that he’s got his man.

Right now he doesn’t say anything because by now I know the routine. I stand and hold my arms out, and accept the weight of shackles on my wrists and my ankles. Then I’m shuffled out of the cell and down the hall to another interrogation room, number four by my count. Hauled inside by the second agent, O’Malley takes a seat on one side of the table and I’m tossed into the seat across from him, hands secured to the table, feet secured to the floor. Behind O’Malley a wall-to-wall mirror looms, and I’ve seen enough television to know that it’s a two-way mirror. I’m being watched on the other side of that glass, a specimen under scrutiny. Are they looking for a crack they can exploit?

I look at my hands while O’Malley shuffles his files around on the chair next to him. I’m in desperate need of a manicure and I must make a face because O’Malley chuckles. I glare back at him, sullen and stubborn. For a moment we sit like that, him trying to stare me down, and me impervious to the threat. I’ve been on the receiving end of much worse than Agent Nick O’Malley. 

With a sigh, he leans to turn the digital recorder on, hoping that perhaps this time I’ll talk. He begins his process.

“Comfortable?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I give him a wan smile. “It’s adequate. The bed is a bit stiff, but the mashed potatoes are heaven. Are they powdered, Agent O’Malley? Or is it an old family recipe? Irish, ‘O’Malley’, innit?”

O’Malley snorts and scratches his beard. “Got a mouth on ya, don’t ya, Turner? You plan on using it wisely at any point during your stay, or you just gonna continue being a pain in my ass?”

I wink and sit back with a shrug. “Before me mum died, she said to me, ‘Alexander, when you find something you’re good at, you stick wiv it.’”

“Yeah?” O’Malley growls, his mouth twisting into a cruel smile. “That include being passed around as a bitch in max serving fifteen to life? Because that’s what you’re up against.”

I stare at the table, unmoving.

“A kid like you would get eaten alive. Swallowed by the system. Probably wouldn’t live long enough to even serve your entire sentence, let alone have the option to parole.”

“Is this your tactic, then? Trying to scare me?” I finally afford O’Malley a look and it makes him catch his breath. “Let me tell you summat, Agent O’Malley. I’ve been through things you can’t even imagine. I’ve seen things that are more at home in a movie script. I’ve lost everything. Including myself. So you can sit there and try to break me, but it won’t work. Miles is dead, and Clarke has skipped country. Who are you gonna pin anything on if not me?” I spot a pack of Parliaments on the table and nod at them. “Gonna give me one o’those or are they just to taunt me?”

Using two fingers to push the pack toward me, O’Malley then contemplates my words as he lights my cigarette before sitting back in his chair. “You’re right. About some of it, at least. You _have_ been through a lot. More than any person should. So let’s start there, shall we?”

I shake my head with a bitter laugh, spewing out a cloud of smoke over my head. “Fine,” I agree. “Hit me with your best shot.”

He never takes his eyes off of me as he reaches down to something at his feet. He lifts it from the ground and sets it on the table in front of me and I have to crane my neck to read the block letters printed boldly across the lid: **SEXUAL ASSAULT EVIDENCE COLLECTION KIT**. My fingers go numb against the surface of the table and the cigarette dangles where it clings to my dried lip. The air feels like it’s been sucked out of the room, and I sit and watch that box waiting for it to jump up and tear my throat out.

O’Malley lifts the lid and sets it to one side and tears open that gaping wound before sitting back with a complacent grin . “Tell me about Joshua Homme.”

+

“You son of a bitch,” Jamie growled as he watched from the other side of the glass. 

If his heart had been in his throat when Alex had been escorted into the interrogation room, it was to the point of bursting out of his chest when O’Malley set the assault kit on the table. His left hand clenched at his side; his right arm was strapped over his chest in a sling that made movement utterly helpless. 

“Settle down, Cook,” Director Banks muttered from where he stood next to Jamie. “This is O’Malley’s show now. You gave your chance away by getting involved beyond duty.”

Jamie sputtered and resisted the burning urge to slam his hand against the glass. “He doesn’t have to do _this_ ,” he insisted. 

The sight of Alex’s drawn face turning ghastly pale was enough to make Jamie’s stomach lurch. That pale complexion, combined with limp hair and the defeated slope of Alex’s shoulders created a picture that was starkly different from Jamie’s last memories of Alex before he lost consciousness. Had he really been able to put three bullets into Kane? The lustre in his eyes that had been present only seconds ago as he insulted O’Malley had been snuffed out, and now he stared with a dark, hollow gaze as O’Malley began sifting through the contents of the box like a kid sorting through his collection of baseball cards.

“Let’s see, what have we got. Hospital report from the night you were brought in. Pretty gruesome bedtime story, Turner, you want me to read it for you?” O’Malley tossed the sheaf of paper onto the desk under Alex’s nose. “Or did you wanna skim for the good parts?”

Alex looked like he wanted to be sick, and Jamie felt it, too. He held his breath as O’Malley reached into the box again. 

“These are nice, have a look here.”

Alex’s breath caught as picture after picture landed on the desk, all of them taken that night he’d suffered at Homme’s hands, all of them an ugly portrait of utter brutality. And though he wanted to look away, he felt strangely compelled to keep staring as he tried to recall that evening. It was locked away from him, but he felt the echo of those bruises in his bones.

“These _are_ you, are they not?” O’Malley asked, before he snapped one up and looked at it closely. “Jesus, someone fucked you up bad, didn’t they?”

Jamie watched Alex’s lip quiver. “Where did you get this?”

“Where do you think?” O’Malley sneered.

“It - it was sealed. It was anonymous-”

“It’s really quite amazing what you can get your hands on as DEA. I had a colleague up at Langley pull a few strings when I got curious about your involvement. I wanted to know everything about you, Turner. Guess the cat’s outta the bag, isn’t it?” He began laying photographs on the table. Each one made Alex flinch. “Take a good look, Alex. Because this is exactly what’s going to happen to you again in prison if you don’t start talking.”

“I...I don’t know what you want me to say-”

O’Malley sprung from his chair, slamming his palm down onto the table with a loud _thwack!_ making Alex rear back and stare up at O’Malley with red-rimmed eyes. “Tell me who killed Homme! Was it you? You’ve got a motive, Alex, clear as day.”

“I…” Alex croaked, his face burning red with shame. “I didn’t...he…”

Fed up with Alex’s meandering, O’Malley cut him off. “We know he’s dead. Interpol contacted us several weeks ago after a compound in Capri belonging to Marco Barzetti was raided by Italian authorities under suspicion of drug trafficking. A whole shit list of unsavory activities was uncovered in the process, including the illegal housing of a threatened species - the nile crocodile. Starting to sound familiar?” He paused to give Alex a chance to talk, but when it was obvious that he would remain silent, O’Malley pushed on. “Those crocs were transferred to Cairo and the pen they inhabited was drained and dragged. Guess what they found?” He reached down onto his pile and tossed a small, sealed bag marked _Evidence_ onto the table.

Alex stared at the bag, and the ruby-crusted ring inside, and licked his dry lips.

“That’s Homme’s, isn’t it? Hmm? That’s what made this.” O’Malley shuffled the pictures from the assault kit until he found the one he wanted: the close up picture of Alex’s cheekbone, split open, oozing blood, and swollen from the blow of Homme’s ring.

Alex blinked at O’Malley and mustered as much nerve as he could. “All you have is a set of pictures of me with the shit beaten out of me-”

“I have corroborating evidence that puts you and Kane in Capri around the same time as Homme’s disappearance. I have witnesses. And I have footage of Homme being at the house of one Miles Peter Kane on the night of June sixth this year. That same footage shows you and him interacting at a point sometime before midnight. Four hours later you show up at the Marina Del Rey escorted by Matthew Helders. We have samples of your blood from a lower room in Kane’s home. If I were to pull Homme’s records and get a DNA sample, do you think it would match what the nurses scraped off of you that night?”

“Go to hell,” Alex snarled.

“Tell me what happened with Homme.”

“You know damn well what happened with Homme!” Alex hissed, his shoulders bunching.

“ _Tell_ me,” O’Malley needled.

Alex stared at the table as if he might be able to set it on fire.

“Did he rape you, Alex? Did he force himself on you? How many times? Once? Twice? Right there in Kane’s own home? He beat you black and blue, didn’t he, took you downstairs, roughed you up until you were helpless and then he just-”

“ _Yes!_ ” Alex roared, forcing his gaze back to O’Malley. “Yes, he fucking did! Is that what you want me to say?”

“Did it make you mad, Alex? Did it make you want to kill him?”

“Yes!” Alex’s voice cracked as he screamed, and spit flew from his lips as he gnashed his next words. “I wanted to kill him! I wanted nothing more to kill him!”

In the other room, Jamie swayed back from the glass as if the cold, harsh voice Alex had suddenly spoke with had cut him to the bone. He watched as a cruel grin twisted Alex’s features.

“You think that after this I would _ever_ feel sorry for that son of a bitch? You think think I’m sorry he’s dead? Is that what you’re trying for here, Agent O’Malley? My admission and my remorse? I assure you, you won’t get either. He had it coming, right from the beginning. Homme deserved to die a _thousand_ different ways, and if I had the means I’d bring him back to life so I could watch him die all over again.”

Jamie couldn’t help but shiver at the cadence of Alex’s words, and the clipped tone he used. If he didn’t know better, he would have put money on Kane inhabiting Alex’s body for a moment. It made him feel sick.

“So you fed him to a crocodile,” O’Malley grinned. He gave a slow, deliberate applause. “Bravo.”

“No,” Alex snapped coldly. “No, I didn’t.”

Surprised by the admission, O’Malley cocked his head to one side, and blinked slowly. “I’m all ears, Turner.”

Alex sniffed and shook his hair from his eyes, before glaring hard at O’Malley. “What the fuck does it matter? Everyone is dead, and you’re gonna pin this all on me anyway.”

“Who killed Homme?”

Alex let out a helpless laugh and sagged back in his chair. “Miles,” he murmured. “It were Miles. All of them. Homme. The Morrison Brothers. Avery.” Alex shook his head. “So Miles is dead, and what does that leave me? Hmm? How are you gonna set up a plea bargain when the man who did it is dead?”

“You’re right,” O’Malley shrugged, standing and gathering his cigarettes from the table. “It’s practically impossible.” He leaned down, digging through his files, until he came up with a legal pad and a pen. He set these on the table in front of Alex. “Write it out. Every last detail.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Alex replied.

“Charming. It’s not going to help at this point, though.”

“And writing down my account will? Miles is _dead_.”

O’Malley shook his head and opened a file, withdrawing two pictures which he laid on the table on top of the legal pad he’d given to Alex. Alex stared, his breath coming in short bursts, as he took in the image of Miles, hooked up to monitors and oxygen, but obviously still very much alive.

“Miles is not dead, Mr. Turner. He’s in serious but stable condition. If you want to make it out of this alive, and generally unscathed, let’s cut a deal.” He reached and pressed ‘stop’ on the digital recorder, rewound it, and pressed play.

Alex’s voice came back through the speaker. _“It were Miles. All of them. Homme, the Morrison Brothers. Avery.”_

“How do you think Miles would take being sold out by his precious little plaything, hmm? And after being shot by him, no less. We’re talking relocation, Turner, and protection from Miles in the ever that he ever makes parole. It could mean a clean break for you, and a new start.” O’Malley pressed ‘stop’ again and moved to the door. “I’ll leave you to think it over. And I may I remind you that the DA would _love_ to have you moved to county if you don’t start talking.”

+

Jamie was on O’Malley as soon as he entered the anteroom, and he threw the bearded man against the opposite wall, rattling him into the filing cabinet. 

“You fucking bastard,” Jamie growled, twisting O’Malley’s collar in his good hand. He let go and threw a punch, decking him in the jaw.

Banks was across the room in seconds, pulling Jamie back. “Settle down, Cook,” he warned.

O’Malley, for his part, played it cool, and he straightened his collar and tie before dragging his hands back over his hair and retying his queue.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Jamie pressed.

“Jesus, you got a real hard on for the kid, don’t ya?”

Jamie lunged again but was stopped by Banks, who held him around the middle with one arm. “Enough!” he barked.

Jamie struggled for a bit in Banks’ hold before he settled, and shrugged him off. He glared at O’Malley. “You know damn well that none of that is admissible in court, Mal!”

“I don’t need to submit it - he gave us what we need. Look at him - knocked the bravado right out of him.”

All three of them turned to watch Alex in the interrogation room. With his hands still secured to the table he could only manage to push the pictures left in front of him a few inches one way or another, but it was enough. His hair swung down over his face, hiding his expression, but it didn’t take a genius to know he’d been broken. The shaking of his shoulders was clear enough.

A swift knock on the door brought their attention round, and an agent stuck his head into the anteroom. “Director Banks? The DA is on the phone regarding the...um…” He paused and glanced at the two-way mirror, and at Alex. “The Turner case, sir.”

Banks turned to look at O’Malley and Jamie. “I’ll be back - settle whatever it is between you two. I don’t need my two best agents at one another’s throats through the proceedings. And let Turner know he’s going to need a lawyer.” 

With Banks gone, Jamie looked to O’Malley once more, but he didn’t say anything.

“What,” O’Malley asked flatly.

“You know what,” Jamie muttered.

“What - _No_ , Cook. No way! I can’t let you in there - what good will it do either of you?”

“Just let me talk to him. I need to talk to him, Mal.”

“You need to focus on what’s ahead. You’re a DEA agent, in case you’ve forgotten, and this is one of the biggest cases to date. We’re talking at least eighteen months work ahead. You’ve got a hell of a lot of paperwork.”

“Please. I...he thinks I’m dead.”

“And it should stay that way.”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

O’Malley stared at Jamie for a spell, and noticed for the first time since they’d been partnered up that the gleam in Jamie’s eye had been dulled. He’d always put himself into his work one hundred percent; after Katie he upped it to one hundred and ten. _It can’t be easy on him_ , part of O’Malley reasoned. His more rational side then spoke up, _And who’s fault is that? He knew what he was getting into._

O’Malley tried a different angle. “Was I the only one watching these last few minutes? Did you or did you not get the gist of it in there? He’s a killer, Jamie, cold blooded like Kane, fixed to a life of brutality. He’s not the same little swish he was when you showed up. Anyone with half a brain and not thinking with his dick can see that.”

“No,” Jamie agreed, “he’s not the same man. I know that first hand.” Jamie edged towards the door. “I’m going in, Mal.”

“This is gonna fuck you up. We’re talking career ending. Or don’t you care about that anymore?”

Jamie paused with his hand on the latch to the door that led into the hallway and sighed. “Somewhere along the way I stopped thinking about myself and about this being a job. These are human lives we’re dealing, Mal, and yeah some of them deserve what they get but others are just products of circumstance. I’m not expecting Alex to forgive me, and I’m not expecting this to lower charges on him, but I can’t let him think he’s alone in this world.”

O’Malley snorted and dug into his pocket, and withdrew a set of keys. He tossed them to Jamie and then shrugged. “Might as well turn in your badge.”

“Trust me,” Jamie said wryly, as he opened the door “I’ve been thinking about that for a while now.”

+

The sound of the door opening made Alex close his eyes and steady himself. He’d barely been alone for five minutes, and he was still desperately trying to piece together exactly what had just happened with Agent O’Malley. He didn’t bother turning around, he merely spread his hands out on the table and let his head hang.

The gentle hand on his shoulder was the last thing he expected, and he startled, and shrank away from it, swinging his hair from his gaze as he looked up. At first he thought it was the light overhead playing tricks, or his lack of sleep combined with the events over the last two and half days. He didn’t want to dare to believe it, but the name came across his lips anyway.

“Jameh?” he asked softly. Tears shimmered in his eyes.

The sound of Alex’s voice, wrought with hesitation, made Jamie’s heart ache. He nodded once. “It’s me,” he affirmed. 

Alex’s eyes were frantic, tracing over the sling Jamie wore, and the way he favored his left leg, the stubble on his jaw, but the immaculate precision with which he was dressed. Alex blinked and stared up at Jamie once more. 

“I thought - I mean, you were dead, Jamie. I couldn’t find a pulse, and the paramedics - they didn’t…” he babbled as his emotions got the better of him.

The smile that wandered onto Jamie’s lips was apologetic. “I was out of it for a bit. Lost a lot of blood.”

“Oh, _god_ , Jamie, I...please, tell me this isn’t a dream,” Alex moaned, pulling his hands as close as he could, trying to bury his face in them. 

A second later and Jamie’s hand moved to his wrist. Alex let out a breath and flexed his fingers, trying desperately to hold onto Jamie’s hand anyway he could. The scent of Jamie’s cologne settled around him and Alex immediately felt at ease. He was on the verge of asking Jamie what happened, how he could be here like this, when Jamie’s hand moved again. With a twist and metallic _click_ , the shackles fell away and Alex flinched and stared for a moment, his fingers clawing at the air.

“How-” he bit his question off as he looked back to Jamie. 

That handsome face was drawn in hard concentration, and he clenched his jaw as he set the keys down and reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and withdrew a small leather case. Flipping it open, he set it down on the table on top of the pictures O’Malley had left scattered.

The chair creaked as Alex leaned forward and stared down at the gold plated badge encircled by a bald eagle. Emblazoned in dark blue enamel in the center were the letters ‘DEA’.

“Whu-” Alex breathed stupidly. “You’re…?” His eyes snapped to Jamie, and his blood ran cold.

“Special Agent James Robert Cook, Drug Enforcement Administration,” he announced thickly. He bit his tongue against anything else and waited for Alex to process the information.

Alex laughed. It was a defeated sound, almost sobbing and to the point of hysterics, and he slid his hands through his hair before cupping the back of his neck and leaning to look at the badge again.

“You’re fucking kidding,” he murmured.

Jamie shook his head. “I wish I was.”

Alex’s eyes flashed as he looked back at Jamie. “Do you, now?”

“Alex, let me explain.”

Cocking his jaw, Alex sat back and pursed his lips, and gave Jamie an expectant look. It served to disarm Jamie and he looked away, colour high in his cheeks.

“Maybe I can do it for ya,” Alex muttered. “What did you always tell me? _‘It’s joost a job, Alex.’_ So I guess you weren’t lying the whole time, were ya?”

Jamie immediately found Alex’s eyes. “No, I wasn’t. Everything I told you was the truth.”

“Save for the fact that you didn’t tell me the most important part!” Alex replied incredulously. “A lie by omission is still a lie-”

“Do you think I enjoyed keeping this from you? Watching you go through the things you endured at the hands of Kane - do you think this was easy for me? I wanted nothing more than to take you out of that place, Alex, but I knew if I moved too soon we wouldn’t be able to get what we needed on Kane to put him away for a very long time.”

“You needed me,” Alex murmured. “I was the key that you needed, I saw everything go down, and even the things that went on before you got there.” He let out a sound of disbelief. “How could I have been so stupid? The whole time - the whole fucking time you were there and Miles didn’t trust you from day one.”

“But you did,” Jamie rushed to say, grabbing the chair O’Malley had occupied and dragging it around the side of the table. His hands twitched to touch Alex again, to grab him and pull him close, but he knew better than to make more contact than necessary. Instead he sat next to Alex and tried to catch his gaze, but the younger man proved elusive. Jamie wouldn’t let it deter him. “You trusted me, Alex, and you knew nothing about me. But the more time I spent with you, the more I wanted to share with you. I found myself telling you things I haven’t even told my partner.”

“And just how am I supposed to believe you now?”

“Because you have to. Alex, this isn’t a game. My only concern through all of this was to keep you safe. This is real, and it’s about to be even more so. You need to cooperate with us or things could end very badly for you.”

“Worse than they already have?” Alex asked lazily. His jaw ticked and he looked down at the pictures under his hands. “Worse than this?” He asked, plucking a picture from the assault kit and flicking it at Jamie. “Or this?” He peeled another one up and sent it sailing into Jamie’s lap. “Or any of these?” He shoved the pile towards Jamie. “Get rid of them.”

“Alex-”

“You fucking knew. The whole time you fucking knew what happened between Homme and I, didn’t you? O’Malley let you in on it and you played me,” he snarled. 

“I didn’t know, Alex, I swear to you. I had my suspicions but until you told me, I didn’t know for certain.”

Alex paled and made a face of discomfort. “You make me sick,” he growled. “I told you things - opened old wounds and bled out freely for you and you already knew.” Baring his teeth, he was like a wild animal, and his fingers clenched into fists on the tabletop. “You made me relive that night just so you could be _certain_? You took advantage of that; and of me. I...I gave you _everything_ , Jamie, more than I ever thought I could and you were lying to me the whole time. I was stupid enough to trust you and you used that against me. You succeeded in driving a wedge between Miles and I.”

“Don’t pin that on me, Alex. You were far gone and removed from him by the time I showed up. You just needed to believe in yourself.”

“All of those things,” Alex murmured. “Those things that you said, when you said I could do anything, could be anything, that I could get away from Miles... you let me think that...that you actually cared-”

“I did care - I _do_ care, Alex, you know I do-”

“ _Don’t fucking lie to me_!” Alex cried out. “All of it - all of the things you’ve told me, right from the moment you showed up on the doorstep have been lies. The school, the scholarship, the fucking guitar lessons from the girl in your dorm-” he stopped short and put a hand over his mouth, gagging on his breath. His lashes fluttered, and tears began to roll down his cheeks. “Did you lie to me about Katie, too?”

Jamie shut his eyes tightly and looked away, scrubbing a hand over his chin. “No,” he said thickly. He looked back to Alex and spoke his next words with solid conviction. “I didn’t lie about any of that. You want transcripts? I’ll get them for you. Want copies of my letter of scholarship? I’ll have it faxed over. I’ll get O’Malley to pull the file on Katie if it will make you believe me.”

Alex set his teeth into his tongue as he stared at Jamie’s face, twisted with heartache and remorse. He wanted to feel sorry for him - perhaps some part of him did. But he realized, as Jamie started to crumble next to him, that the only person he could rely on was himself. The only person who would take care of him was himself. He laughed then - it was just like Jamie had told him in that bathroom at Barat’s villa. He was done being manipulated. He was done being used.

“There is _nothing_ ,” Alex spat, “that you could _ever_ say, or do, to make me believe anything you’ve told me. Not now. Not after this.” He watched Jamie for another few moments and then looked back at the few pictures remaining, and he began sorting through them - those for the assault kit in one pile, those of Miles in another. 

“It’s funny,” Alex sniffed, flicking his hair from his eyes and wipe at his tears, “how things have turned out. You see yourself one way and then you wake up one morning and everything has changed.” He paused and stared at one of the pictures of Miles. “I tried so hard to see things from Miles’ perspective. Tried to behave in a way that would make him proud of me. To make him love me. His biggest fear was betrayal. And now I know why.” Alex raised his head and looked Jamie deep in the eyes. “Because it’s the worst feeling you can possibly imagine. The things Homme did...those scars healed. I moved on. But betrayal, Jamie, lingers, because you never really know why someone could treat you in such a way. You think you know someone, and they turn on you in an instant. There’s no coming back from that.”

Jamie took a breath, hoping to talk some sense into Alex, but the younger man was stubborn, something Jamie knew quite well. It infuriated him, Alex’s sense of martyrdom, but Jamie was backed into a corner, despite the fact Alex was the one under fire. Silently, Jamie got to his feet, and he snagged his badge from the table and hooked it onto his belt before he gathered the pictures from the assault kit as best he could with his one good hand. After replacing them in the box he contemplated taking the pictures of Miles, too, but thought better of it. If he couldn’t get through to Alex at this point, not much else could, but maybe a memory of what he’d came from would hit home. 

The hardest part, however, was when Jamie had to fasten the cuffs around Alex’s wrists once more. He didn’t fight it, and his joints were loose as he let Jamie move him about, silent as the grave, his eyes boring holes into the pictures of Miles. When he was secured once more, Jamie gathered the box under his arm and moved to the door, casting a final glance over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” Jamie said softly. “For everything except for the way I feel about you.”

Alex snorted. “I’m sorry, too.”

“If things were different-”

“But they’re not, are they?” Alex said, finally looking up. “You gave me wings, an’ then you clipped ‘em. You did your job well.” He then looked away, effectively ending the conversation.

+

Back in the hallway, Jamie sagged against the wall and concentrated on breathing - in, and out again, in, and out once more, in an attempt to calm his pounding heart. Every beat made him ache to his very core. The words Alex had said to him, about thinking that you know someone, and then they turn on you not only applied to Jamie. They were meant to warn Jamie off. He’d seen the changes in Alex over the last few weeks but _this_ version of him was very different than anything Jamie had ever expected. It hadn’t just been Miles’ influence or Homme’s brutality that had shaped and moulded Alex into the thing he’d left sitting there in the interrogation room - Jamie had had a hand in it, too.

In some ways, he’d done more damage to Alex than he had to Katie, and the thought ripped through him to the point that he wanted to run, to drop everything and never look back. The urge was alive in his limbs, and was only cut short by the sudden appearance of O’Malley and Banks, flanking a third man that Jamie had never seen before. Fine boned, blond, and with a rather haughty swagger, the man paused and looked Jamie over, and tossed a question over his shoulder to Banks.

“Was he just in there with my client? Without legal representation?”

“Step aside, Cook,” Banks muttered, putting a hand to Jamie’s chest and holding him against the wall.

“Who’s this?” Jamie asked, looking to O’Malley.

“Alex Kapranos,” the man introduced himself. He didn’t offer a handshake, and merely affected a look of boredom. “I represent John Cooper Clarke, and his interests concerning this case.”

Jamie narrowed his gaze. “His ‘interest’? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kapranos opened his mouth but Banks pressed heavily against Jamie’s chest to silence him, and then nodded for O’Malley to escort Kapranos into the interrogation room. When the door closed, Jamie pushed Banks away.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Bail has been posted,” Banks replied, a sneer on his face as he looked at the door O’Malley and Kapranos had disappeared through. “And the DA has been paid off. Kapranos is here to escort Turner from our custody.”

Jamie’s eyes widened. “ _What?_ ”

Banks clenched his jaw and looked back to Jamie. “John Cooper Clarke rubs elbows with more than just local authority. I just didn’t know he had the DA in his back pocket.” Banks shook his head in disbelief. “It’s not really surprising, though, is it?”

Jamie opened his mouth to reply but the door to the interrogation room was already opening, and O’Malley stepped out, followed closely by Alex and Kapranos. When Jamie moved toward them, Kapranos blocked Alex and dug his finger into Jamie’s chest.

“Ease up, pal. Mr. Turner is free to go at this point, and whatever else you have to say to him you can say to me, first. You’re lucky I don’t have your badge at this point.” He paused and glanced at O’Malley and Banks. “That goes for all of you. As far as the state of California is concerned Mr. Turner has been absolved of all charges. I suggest you leave him alone and let him start rebuilding his life.”

Alex didn’t move, not until Kapranos gestured for him to continue down the hallway. He kept his gaze fixed at a point ahead of him, and Jamie watched him turn the corner and vanish. Then, Jamie turned and stared at Banks helplessly.

“I want you and O’Malley in my office in one hour’s time. That’s an order.” Banks turned on his heel and left Jamie alone in the hallway.

+

“Agent Cook? I’m Agent Harris. I was on the recovery team at the Kane residence.”

Jamie turned from his window and looked at the young woman hovering in his doorway. “How can I help you, Agent Harris?”

“I’ve got your personal effects from the house on Venice Beach. I don’t know if you want to go through them as they’re...not being held as evidence,” she finished awkwardly. She tugged at the long tail of brown hair slung down one shoulder and gave Jamie a small smile. “They’re down in storage, containers 78 and 79 in section C.”

He nodded. “Thank you. I’ll...I’ll probably go through them in a few.”

Agent Harris nodded once more and then slipped away quietly as Jamie turned back to the window.

_“Four years down the drain,” Banks began with a groan as he looked from O’Malley to Jamie. “Not only do we not get Turner, but Clarke has given us the slip. Even Barat has vanished. The only one we have is Kane, and it’s touch and go with him as it is. But despite that, you’re facing suspension, Cook, without pay, unless you can convince me otherwise.”_

_Jamie shook his head soberly. “No, sir, I can’t. Not sure if I want to.”_

_Banks nodded at O’Malley to give them a moment, and when he was gone, Banks gave Jamie a sympathetic look. “It’s hard not to get involved in these types of things, given the circumstances. When you’re undercover for as long as you were, lines start to blur - trust me, I know first hand. You start to wonder who you are, really: the agent, or the role you’re playing. Time away might be just what you need.”_

_“What if it’s more than time I need?” Jamie asked, staring down at his hands._

_“Cook, you’re one of my best agents, in the field and otherwise. Just take the time you’ve got coming to get your head straight. Then, come back and help us make sure that Kane stays behind bars. We both know if he gets out, Turner will be on the run.”_

Down in storage, Jamie followed directions from the agent in charge and wandered through the aisles until he found the bins Harris had told him about. He dragged them into the middle of the aisle and lifted the lid on the first one, finding it mostly full of clothes and a few personal effects. Somewhere about halfway down the pile was the shirt Alex had slipped on the morning after the night before, and Jamie couldn’t stop himself from lifting it free and holding it to his nose, hoping that it still smelled like the other man. Alex’s scent was soft, barely detectable, but the fact that it had lain next to his skin made the shirt almost vibrate in Jamie’s hand. He folded it half-heartedly and set it aside. When he opened the second bin he paused, staring down at the guitar case the recovery team had managed to fit inside.

Gently, Jamie lifted the case from the bin and set it down on the floor. He flipped the latches open and pushed the lid up, gazing down at the guitar nestled within the claret felt lining.

 _“Maybe you can play it for me?”_ he heard Alex ask in some place that felt like a lifetime ago.

 _“Someone is gonna end up getting hurt, Alex,”_ he remembered saying, _“but I don’t think it will be you.”_

He’d been half right at least, to some degree. They’d both ended up getting hurt. Alone in the storage lockers, Jamie slid to the floor and let his fingers linger on the body of the guitar as he closed his eyes and tried to conjure Alex from that fateful night. He knew he was chasing ghosts, but that seemed par for the course for him. The last things Alex had said to him had been meant to be final, and it was a hard fact to swallow for Jamie. He was certain he’d never see Alex again, and he’d have to live with what he’d done.

He wasn’t so sure he could go back into the field with that weight in his heart.

+

_Twenty-four hours later  
LAX International Departures Private Lounge_

Alex sat restlessly beside the lawyer, Kapranos, who was busily chatting away in Russian to someone on the other end of the call. His release from the holding cell at the DEA had been sudden, and disorienting, as had been his final conversation with Jamie.

He’d tried over the last day to put it from his mind, to believe in everything he’d said to Jamie - Jamie had been convinced, for certain, but Alex couldn’t shake the emptiness he felt in his heart. Deep down he knew that Jamie hadn’t meant to hurt him; in truth he hadn’t meant to hurt Jamie, either, at least not in hindsight. But things had been said, and done, that weren’t so easily reversed.

Under the direction of Clarke, Alex was put up in a garden terrace guest room in the Montage, in the heart of Beverly Hills. An array of clothing had been sent up with room service, and Alex had spent the better part of the prior evening choosing a few things to wear and pack into a bag. According to Kapranos, who looked on from a distance while doing business on his phone, Alex would be departing the United States for Prague, where he would finally meet with Clarke.

Tapping the toe of his boot against the carpet, he flexed his fingers and itched for a cigarette. Kapranos had assured him he could smoke on the plane - another one of Clarke’s private charter jobs - and that they were just waiting for word from the hangar that the plane was ready. He was so preoccupied with the thought of a cigarette, and of getting away before his luck changed, that he didn’t notice the feet that had appeared in his line of vision suddenly. Black canvas sneakers shuffled, and gave way to tattered jeans, and a horrendously loud, printed Hawaiian shirt. Looking up, Alex gave a start, and launched out of his seat with a cry.

“Zack!”

Zack Michael caught Alex easily, and held him tightly as the smaller man clung to him. “Nice to see you, too,” Zack laughed. “You made it out.”

Alex laughed, and the sound crumbled to a sob with a sudden rush of tears. He nodded and and before Zack could pull away, Alex tightened his hold, and buried his face in his friend’s shoulder. “God, Zack, I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Zack nodded silently, and held Alex until they both stopped shaking. Slipping the Lennon-esque sunglasses from his face, Zack gave Alex a once-over with his friendly blue eyes. “I was beginning to think the same thing,” he admitted. 

“What are you doing here?” Alex asked, as he took in Zack’s carry on bag sitting at his feet.

“Got a call from Clarke two days ago, and I flew in last night. 

“Clarke?” Alex murmured. “You’re...you’re coming with me?”

Zack laughed, and nodded. “I wasn’t about to let you go halfway around the world and have all the fun without me.”

Alex gave his own chuckle, and then was suddenly yanking Zack close to him, closing his eyes in relief for the first time in seventy two hours. Zack was the only familiar thing he had left, the only one that hadn’t lied to him. “I’m glad for that, Zack. And I’m sorry about-”

Zack leaned back with a curious expression. “About almost shooting me?” He shook his head. “I’m just glad you made the right choice.”

“So am I,” Alex agreed. “Although...Matthew ended up…”

“I heard about that,” Zack interrupted. “I know how much he meant to you.”

“Thank you.”

Zack nodded, and smiled, and then glanced about the lounge. “Now, then. Who do I have to bend over to get a fucking cigarette in here?”

+

_“It’s just a suspension, you know,” O’Malley said when Jamie laid his badge and his piece on the desk._

_“It’s more than that, Mal.”_

_O’Malley scowled. “So, that’s it? You’re just gonna...walk into the sunset with a guitar in hand?”_

_Jamie shrugged. “What else am I gonna do?”_

_“This isn’t you, Jamie. You don’t give up.”_

_“And look where it’s gotten me,” Jamie replied. “Maybe it’s time I give myself a chance to let this go by. I don’t know if my heart is in it - or maybe it’s in it too much.”_

_Lifting Jamie’s badge from the desk, O’Malley drew his thumb over the enamelled letters, and then opened his drawer and set it inside. “You’ll be back. Guys like us don't just quit.”_

_Jamie shook his head. “Don’t hold your breath.”_

That had been the day before. Now it was early morning, the sun creeping up over the horizon that Jamie drove towards. Beside him in the Jeep he’d brought out of storage was the guitar Alex had bought him; in the back was a bag with a few changes of clothes. He drove east, not knowing that Alex had flown the same direction only hours before. 

_“What about Alex?” O’Malley had called after Jamie._

_“Alex?” Jamie murmured, raising a questioning eyebrow._

_“You think we’d let him just walk without keeping eyes on him in some capacity?”_

_It was on the tip of Jamie’s tongue to ask the question, to find out where he was, what had become of him, but instead he shook his head, while his throat ached with the emotions bubbling beneath the surface._

_“I don’t want to know.”_

_“You saying that for his sake, or for your own?”_

_Jamie pushed a grin to his lips, and fought against breaking down. “For both of us, I think. It’s better this way.”_

He’d left O’Malley’s office then and made his way out of the building, where he hailed a cab that would take him to the flat that had sat vacant for the better part of two years. In it, he’d find everything he’d put on hold - everything, of course, except for Alex.

For the first time in his life, he didn’t have a clear plan, or a set goal. The only things he knew for certain were that he had some money saved up, and some time coming to him. What he would do with it was anyone’s guess. His suspension was for three months, but it might as well be a lifetime, as far as Jamie was concerned. Christ knew he’d wasted enough of those already.

+

The last time I was on a plane I ended up sealing my fate, or so it seemed. It occurred to me now, as LA dropped away beneath us and the clouds, that Jamie had been wrong - I hadn’t gotten out. If anything, I’d gotten in deeper. Miles hadn’t died, and that was enough to keep me looking over my shoulder, despite Kapranos’ reassurance that he would never find me. I knew he would, eventually. He wouldn’t stop until he did, but until that time came, I’d bide my time, and learn the business as directed by Clarke.

Kapranos informed me that when I failed to show for the meeting at Clarke’s home, and news of the shooting spree at the mansion and my subsequent arrest began to circulate, Clarke cut ties to his business and fled the country, but kept the contract he’d drawn up completely open, as if he knew something like this might happen. At least, that’s how I viewed it. I didn’t let on to Kapranos, nor would I let on to anyone else around me. You see, that was Miles’ biggest flaw - he didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut, or when to lay low and play ball. You don’t spend as much time in the company of men like him and not learn and thing or three. In this type of business, you keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

Where Miles was concerned, he’d only done part of the job - he’d eliminated some of the top men in Clarke’s employ, but there were still other rivals to contend with. I didn’t trust Carl Barat at all, and I had a feeling that he’d try the same power play as Miles had, and come looking for me some day. I had other men to consider, first. Sam Fogarino was at the top of my list, and I wanted nothing more than to put a bullet between his eyes like he had Matthew, but I had a long way to go before I was ready to take him out.

Oh, it wasn’t all doom and gloom. I had Zack with me. If Matthew had been alive, then I would have been set, for sure, ready for whatever was ahead of me. But I’d figure out how to go on without him, just as I’d learn to go on without Miles. I had to - in order to survive, I had to leave my past behind me - as much of it as I could. I don’t think it would matter if I was on the moon, a piece of Jamie was wedged permanently in my heart, and I’d feel him anywhere. But I was hopeful that over time the feeling would fade, the jagged edges eroding with things to come, until his face was something that I had to work to imagine. Eventually I’d stop waking in the night half expecting him to be there next to me. Until then, I’d do everything to make sure that I took full advantage of the freedom I now had to spread my wings, and take flight.

~end~


End file.
